


Darkness Lives Here

by skyjoos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternative Universe - Dark Web, Angst, Begging, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Crying, Dark, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Web, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exploitation, Graphic Description, Hacking, Hitchhiking, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Pastor Tony Stark, Pedophilia, Please Don't Hate Me, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red Room, Religious Conflict, Sex Slavery, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Underage - Freeform, Violence, Whump, serial killer tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjoos/pseuds/skyjoos
Summary: Incredibly dark drabbles of Starker. All of this will be highly explicit content. Please read at your own risk.This is basically just a bunch of drabbles of hurt Peter. If whumps make you uncomfortable, this fic will not be for you.Currently taking suggestions!





	1. Serial Killer Tony

**Author's Note:**

> Tony is a prolific serial killer who can't help but feed into his urges. On a cold, dark night, he finds a young Peter Parker walking alone. The urge inside soars as he offers the boy a ride straight to the end.

Tony can feel the urge in the bottom of his stomach, a substantial rock that pulls against his insides. It pulls all the morality he thought he had to the depths of his body. It breaks apart any sense of reason he once had. Once the urge starts, it's impossible to stop. Unless he gives in.

 

He always gives in.

 

Tony wishes he could feel sorry for what it makes him do, but the overwhelming positive sense of  _ accomplishment _ it gives him is the most intoxicating feeling. He wants to weep for the lives lost, the grief cried and the blood spilt. But when the rock in his abdomen erupts and leaves him feeling whole again, he knows he shouldn't deny it: He loves the way killing makes him feel.

 

It started with an ex friend. A prude, pain in the ass who didn't know when enough was enough. He was always complaining, nothing Tony did pleased him. One morning, he felt a hard lump form in his gut. He tried nursing the pain all throughout work. Taking Alka-Seltzer, Pepto Bismol, and other forms of subsalicylates. Nothing worked. Weeks went by but Tony dealt with the pain. At least it made him feel something. It wasn't until that smug, blonde fuck opened his mouth one morning when the two were in the lab, that Tony snapped.

 

It all seemed like he was watching a move. He watched as two actors sat at a table. They ignored each other bluntly until one that looks like him reaches for a nearby scalpel and slashes at the other's face. He observes the copycat fight the man to the ground and ultimately stabbing him dozens of times in the chest. The supporting role bleeds out, gasping for air beneath the star. The leading actor stands up and suddenly he's not watching a film anymore. 

 

From then on Tony's life consists of laying low, moving every few years and finding new victims. Most of the men Tony comes across are degenerates, delinquents, homeless or a mix of the three. He makes sure he kills the people who will garter the least amount of press. Most of the time a case will be opened on the murdered man. Police will typically spend a month or so on it before he gets sent to another county or cold-case files. Even in the rare cases where the families of the victims got involved, their cases weren't investigated for more than five months. If there's too much heat on a particular case, he flees. 

 

The urge nearly boils inside him as he drives down a desolate road. It's half past 1 AM. His eyes are half shut as he drives. If it weren’t for the hunger growing inside of him, he’s sure he would’ve fallen asleep by now. His stomach groans with every turn, with every bump and pothole driven over. It nearly doubles him over, the pain seething inside him. As he makes a slow turn left, his headlights bounce off the figure of a person walking along the road.

 

_ Yes. _

Tony hits the brakes and rolls his driver side window down. He sticks his head out of the car, the autumn wind blows cool air against his aged skin. Standing four feet away is a young man with chestnut hair. He’s visibly cold, wearing only a pair of dark washed jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan. Tony beams his most charismatic smile at the boy. 

 

“You lost, kid?”

 

The boy only nods at first. It takes him a moment to regain his composer. 

 

“Yeah, I - I need a ride. Do you have a cell phone so I can call a cab?” The boy trails off, clearly not wanting to bother Tony.

 

Tony’s smile doesn’t falter as he motions to the passenger seat of the car.

 

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll drive you home. Free of charge,” he offers.

 

The young man slowly inches towards the car, his figure caught in the headlights as he carefully walks. Tony takes the opportunity to give the boy another look: He’s smaller than average but not too short, has cropped hair and a hint of blemished cheeks. He probably gets freckles in the summer, that or he’s been walking in the cold for so long his face has begun to redden. Regardless, the kid is cute.

 

“You,” the boy clears his throat, “Are you sure, sir?”

 

Tony shrugs, “Of course. What else do I have better to do at 1 AM on a Sunday?”

 

With that, the kid chuckles. He nods his understanding to Tony as he makes his way around the car, his frame yet again being caught in the bright light. Tony unlocks the door and the boy slides into the passenger seat.

 

“Hi kid, I’m Tony. You alright there?” Tony feigns worry as the boy shivers as he pulls on his seatbelt.

 

“Uh yeah, just really freaking cold. Oh and I’m Peter.”

 

Peter gives him a meek smile as he wraps the loose sleeves of his cardigan over his hands. Tony starts the car and locks the doors. He continues driving, his thumbs press into the steering wheel. This kid is perfect. His favorite type of victim. The innocent, young ones are what set Tony on edge. He can feel the urge swelling as he makes a right.

 

“So,” he tries, “Peter, what in the world are you doing walking all the way out here so late at night for? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

 

A long sigh escapes the boy besides him. 

“Yeah, I have class tomorrow. I was just, uh. I needed to get fresh air,” Peter clearly lies.

 

“Ah, yeah. It’s a little chilly out though. Glad I found you, it’s only supposed to get colder throughout the night.”

 

Peter hums a reply as he looks down at the seat. Tony takes the chance to give him another glance before looking back at the road. God, Peter really is a work of art. His face a perfectly blended painting where even the jagged edges look refined. 

 

“So do you live in the town or further up or,” Tony trails off.

 

He looks over to see Peter playing with his seatbelt, twisting the elastic between his fingers. The rock sitting inside of him plunges even further, pulling hard at the sight of Peter’s innocence. It hurts to look at him, so he stares straight ahead and focuses on the road. It takes Peter a moment to understand he had been asked a question.

 

“Oh. Ah, yeah. But I’m not really looking to go home. If you could just drive me anywhere you can that’d be really cool. I - uh,” Peter is interrupted by Tony.

 

“You running away?” Tony asks.

 

Peter takes another shaky breath before he slowly nods. Tony can see out of the corner of his eye that Peter goes to wipe away something on his cheek. If he cared enough he would offer him a tissue, but he doesn’t. It isn’t the boy’s emotional stability he’s worried about, it’s the aching he feels in his stomach. Along with a new feeling. Peter’s innocence is such an incredibly disgusting turn on for Tony. The young ones always do him in.

 

“I - I, no. I mean, ah,” Peter stammers, “Yeah, I  guess. Please don’t call the police! I have a little bit of money, if you want it.”

 

Tony onlys chuckles to himself as he shakes his head. The kid’s new to this, he’s clearly never left home before without his parents knowing. He has literally nothing besides a lackluster amount of cash and the clothes on his back. 

 

“I don’t want your money. And I won’t call the cops,” Tony replies.

 

Peter looks caught off guard at the statement. He’s probably surprised that Tony won’t tell the authorities he’s running away. Not that Tony could ever do that. They might ask too many questions. ‘So what’s the reason you’re driving out here so late at night, Mr. Stark?’ Leads to, ‘Can I see some ID?’ Which ends in, ‘Hey, haven’t I seen you before?’ Being caught right now when the urge is so strong would surely end in every officer’s blood being spilt.

 

“Thanks. I - You have no idea how much this means to me, sir,” Peter nearly whispers.

 

For minutes Tony drives in complete silence. He can see Peter tilting his head towards the window, watching the trees be illuminated by the headlights. He has to focus on driving or else he’ll lose control. The urge rages inside him. He clears his throat, trying to avoid the pain.

 

“So why are you running? Parents on your nerves? Drugs? You get into trouble?”

 

Peter sighs heavily, again his face contorts with such a sadness and hardness that Tony could never fake. He places his hands in his lap, folding the fabric of his cardigan over his knuckles. It must be a nervous tick. 

 

“I just need to leave,” Peter mutters.

 

His voice is so soft and quiet Tony’s surprised he had heard him at all. Tony hates playing this game with Peter. He decides to ignore the subject and tries something new. 

 

“Well, do you have any family you could go to? A friend’s house I can drop you off at?” Tony tries.

 

Peter shakes his head, “No. If you can just, ah. Drive me as far as possible. I’ll find my way from there.”

 

So this kid is running from something serious. He clearly doesn’t want anyone finding out he’s gone and also doesn’t trust anyone enough to hide him. Tony doesn’t care what kind of trouble Peter is running from, and ultimately it doesn’t matter. He won’t make it through the night.

 

“Peter.”

 

Peter turns his head to look at what will be the end of him. He has such a beautiful gleam in his eyes. Tony doesn’t know what it is, but the coolness he’s received from Peter turns him on. The innocence and sadness trapped inside his eyes sends the rock in his stomach spinning. 

 

“Y-yes?” He stutters.

 

Tony slows the car down, going a painfully slow three miles an hour. The car inches it’s way down the paved road. He turns his body to face Peter, not caring if he drives into a ditch. Not caring if another car passes. He looks straight into the boy, and he can almost feel the fear rising in the younger’s body.

 

“What are you running from?” 

 

Peter catches his breath and blinks rapidly. He averts his eyes to Tony’s chest, trying to escape from his cold eyes.

 

“That wasn’t a question,” Tony spats, “Tell me.”

 

Peter shakes his head, “I - I can walk from here. It’s fine. I’m s-sorry for bothering you.” 

 

He goes for the door handle. Tony catches him by the shoulder, firmly holding him.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Peter. You can tell me,” he offers his best smile.

 

Something in the way Peter gives in, the way his eyes cast downward and he sighs, makes Tony so hard it makes him forget about the urge building. Peter takes shaky breath, a sob reaching his lips.

 

“My step-dad. He, uh. He, he, he,” Peter struggles to get through the phrase, “He touches me. I can’t stand it anymore. I just wanna get away from him!”

 

Tony’s breath leaves his body as the boy he’s holding lets out another sob. 

 

“Please,  _ please _ don’t tell my mom! Please don’t, please sir. I -,” Peter sobs.

 

Peter’s so broken he begins to dry sob. Tony doesn’t let his hand leave his shoulder. He hits the gas and the car begins to slowly rise in speed. Out of the corner of his eye he can see nothing but road ahead. He tries to keep his smile hidden from the boy in front of him. 

 

“I’ll make a deal with you, kid. I’ll drive you past town and drop you off at a motel and pay for a night so you can get some sleep. I’ll buy you a bus ticket to where ever you wanna go. I won’t tell anyone. Not your mom, not the cops,” he starts.

 

With that, he can sense Peter’s worry releasing. All of his fear seeps out of him in a stream of long breaths and sighs. He looks up at Tony, relief across his face. Tony relishes in the calm before the storm.

 

“But you have to do me a favor.”   
  


Peter actually nods, his eyes wide and alert. Tony believes then that Peter really is too innocent for his own good. A boy, so broken and depleted, still wants to do something right for someone he doesn’t even know. 

 

“Yes, sir. Anything. I told you I have some money, it’s not a lot but you can have it,” Peter says.

 

Tony laughs. What a foolish boy. So fucking stupid. Just like the rest. 

 

“No, Peter, I don’t want your money.”

 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow as Tony’s lips crack into a manic smile.

 

“I want you to blow me,” Tony deadpans.

 

A small sound escapes Peter. Tony can’t determine if it’s a gasp or a sigh or both. He can sense the tension that Peter feels. All Tony feels is the gnawing weight in his gut. He grunts as he slams the breaks. He turns to see Peter already toying with the lock. He grabs the boy’s hand, digging his sharp nails into it.

 

“Come on, now. I’m sure you’re used to it. How many times did Daddy Dearest have his cock down your throat?” 

 

Peter struggles in Tony’s grasp, he pulls at the man’s hand. Tony takes his other hand to strangle the boy’s neck. The meek whimper he gives sends Tony into a brief moment of euphoria. God, he’s such a pretty wreck. 

 

“Doing me a favor won’t kill you,” Tony breathes, “I will.”

 

Tears spill from Peter’s eyes as Tony tightens his grip on his throat. After a moment he lets go, causing Peter to fall into a coughing fit. Once he’s regained his composer, he looks up at his assailant. 

 

“Pl-please, no. I - I don’t wanna die!” Peter cries. 

 

Tony attaches his hand to Peter’s neck again, this time at the nape. He loves the look of fear and hate etched across the kid’s face. The things he’ll do to that face soon.  _ Fuck. _

 

“Then I suggest you get started,” Tony says as he shoves the boy’s face into his lap, “I’m very impatient, bitch.”

 

Peter shakes in Tony’s grasp. Tony quickly releases his member from his pants, already hard. He watches Peter slowly begin to lick his member up and down. The boy’s face screams disgust and sadness and just the sight alone makes Tony thrust into his mouth. Peter holds back a whimper as half of Tony’s dick forces its way into his open mouth. Tony keeps a firm hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, forcing him to stay on his cock. 

 

Soft whimpers and cries that come from Peter only push Tony closer to the edge. He rolls his hips and hangs his head back while a sobbing boy beneath him does the work. It’s enticing and disgusting and so hot to Tony, but it does nothing to easy the pain in his abdomen. The urge rumbles as he cums in Peter’s unwilling mouth. He pulls the boy’s head back, knowing full well the kid won’t swallow unless forced.

 

“Spit it out,” Tony demands.

 

Peter is eager to oblige and get the disgusting mess out of his mouth. He spits out the window, coughing as tears fall down his face. Tony can’t have the police finding his semen in the boy’s body, he’d much rather have his seed stain the outside of his car then ruin everything for him. He slumps back in his seat, the urge coming full steam as he watches the helpless boy cry out with his head sticking out the window. He screams. He wails, hoping somebody will hear. Tony knows full well that no one will.

 

“Help me! Please! Anyone!”

 

Tony reels himself back up and forces Peter back, clutching the top hem of his cardigan. Stupid, ignorant little fuck. He thinks someone will care enough about him to save him. If someone gave a shit about him, he wouldn’t have ranaway. He unlocks the doors and lugs the boy out into the cold.

 

“Nobody’s gonna give a fuck about some runaway bitch. Not like anyone can hear you from out here anyway,” he sneers.

 

Peter almost lets himself be dragged out of the vehicle. Tony’s hands wrapped under his armpits as he’s being hauled to the pavement. His cardigan is ripped from him as Tony throws him on the road. His head hits the ground, causing him to see spots for a second. His hands fly up as he tries to reorient himself.

 

“Fuck, don’t pass out on me, kid. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part.”

 

Peter’s vision slowly improves but as he tries to stand, he’s pushed back down by Tony’s large hands. He can feel the adrenaline in the boy below him. It feels so good to have someone under him like this, helpless and crying. He draws out his switchblade, it isn’t much but it gets the job done. He licks his lips as he meets Peter’s gaze. Peter cries out, thrashing and turning underneath him.

 

“Fucking beg for me not to kill you. Beg for your life, you little shit. Beg for me not to stab open a new fuckhole in your throat and fuck you in it ‘till you choke on your own blood.”

 

Peter doesn’t take long to give in. He pleads for his life, hands hiding his face as he bawls. 

 

“Please, oh God. Please don’t. I don’t wanna die. Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he rambles.

 

Tony hates his idiotic rambling, his nonsensical pleas. The kid can’t even form words to express how much he doesn’t want to be killed. He must want his life to end, because his pleading doesn’t even stir a little bit of remorse in Tony. 

 

“You know,” Tony starts, “I usually find begging to be a turning point for me. I usually have to second guess myself if I really want to end that person’s life. Of course, I always do kill them in the end. But you’re such a low life fuck that you can’t even tell me how much you wanna live.”

 

“God, please! Please don’t. I - I,” Peter stammers.

 

Tony leans down close to Peter, his blade pressed firmly against the boy’s throat. His face is meer centimeters away as Peter cries. His tears look sweet and delicious. The urge inches up to Tony’s throat as Peter shakes uncontrollably beneath him. 

 

“ _ Fucking beg like you mean it.” _

 

Peter screams, “I don’t wanna die! I’m only s-sixteen. I wanna go to school for science and, and, and I want my mom and aunt to see me graduate! I wanna live so I can be with my friends, I wanna have sex for the first time, I wanna drive a car, I wanna get a job! Please don’t take that away from me. Please, oh God. Pleas -.”

 

The urge climbs with every word Peter cries. It boils and rages and makes Tony clutch his side in pain. He doesn’t even let Peter finish before he plunges the blade into the boy’s throat. He twists the knife, observing Peter’s pained, tear stained face as his life fades away. Tony takes the knife out to stab the teen again. And again and again. Until he’s sure no one - not his mother, not his aunt, not even his step-father - can recognize him. 

 

He leaves the body there, but takes the cardigan as a momento. It won’t be hard to forget this one. Such a lackluster performance he put on, the stupid shit. Tony drives away from the wooded roads, the rock in his stomach erupts into the familiar warmth he’s missed for so long.


	2. Stockholm Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's mind deteriorates after spending fourteen months in Tony Stark's basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'll be posting warnings from now on for each chapter since not all warnings apply to every story. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> Rape/Non-con  
> Child abuse  
> Graphic depictions of violence  
> Kidnapping  
> Mentally unstable characters

I sit against the chipped wall of my room, my fingers swirl against the cement floor. There really isn’t much to do when Tony’s not here. I had a TV for a while but then I just had to scream out the basement window while helping him fold laundry. I deserved getting my TV taken away and the beating. It hurt, but not as bad as I probably hurt Tony. I haven’t gotten it back since. And that was forever ago. I don’t deserve it, but I wish I had something to do other than just sit here waiting for him to get back from work. 

 

He told me once that he leaves for work at eight and gets back at four. Sometimes he’ll stay late at the lab and not come home until ten. And since I don’t have a clock, I pass the time by counting the seconds until he gets home. Once, I got so bored I counted it down to the second he got home for two weeks, scrawling the times on the wall after everyday. By doing the math, I figured he gets home at approximately 4:47pm on average. Give or take a few seconds. 

 

I miss doing math. I miss sitting in Mr. Flack’s class and being forced to remember tough algorithms and equations and - 

 

My mind wanders a lot. I try to take a deep breath and recall where I was with my counting. I was at around 24778 seconds which leaves 11222 seconds, or about three hours, until Tony comes home. Ever since I lost the TV I try to pass the time by recreating every scene in some of my favorite movies. I’m halfway through ‘Coraline’ before I get bored and think of another movie to imagine. For another couple hours I pretend I’m watching ‘The Phantom of The Opera’. I get all the way to ‘The Point of No Return’ when I stop. It has to be past four now. Why isn’t Tony here?

 

He must be working late. But he usually leaves me food before he leaves if he thinks he’ll be long. It’s only when I’ve upset him when he won’t leave food for me. What did I do that hurt him? I wrack my brain for the memories of this morning. Did I say something sideways? Did I forget to say good morning? The problem with being in the same room with the same person for however long I’ve been here is that the days all feel the same. When I try to think of something I could’ve done wrong, I think of things that happened in the past. Like when I accidentally spilled the bowl of cereal he gave me one morning and he left me inside my room for eight hours without food or water. But I deserved it, especially after I had broken a bowl that wasn’t even mine. The trouble Tony went through in cleaning up my mess was enough evidence that I deserved the punishment.

I huff and walk over to my bed and lay down in the soft quilt. When I first got here, there was only a pile of blankets and pillows I had to sleep on. Tony said I had to work my way up to a real bed. And I did. It took a while, but I’ll never forget when Tony made me walk to his side of the basement and close my eyes. After an hour, he said I could come back in and admire my new bed. The first thing I did was thank him on my knees and with my tongue, the way he taught me.

 

Tony’s so smart and he’s an actual teacher. He told me that he teaches tons of interns and students at his lab every week. When I asked him what exactly it was that he did, he slapped me. I should’ve known better than to ask too many prying questions. Tony hates it when I do that. He calls it, “Curiosity killed the boy”. Like that saying about the cats, I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s based off of. I think. 

 

My mind zones back in to my senses. Where’s Tony? He’s usually always home by now, and I must have wasted at least 240 seconds while thinking. I lay with my arms and legs spread as I extend a long sigh. It’s not too weird that he’s out later than usual. It’s fine. He’ll be home soon. I lay in bed for another hour before I feel a twinge of worry creep into me. But why is he out so late? Did he get into trouble at work? Did someone not understanding something and he needed to stay late to explain it to them? Did his car get towed? 

 

Or worse, what if he’s been hurt? I remember Tony telling me about some domestic terrorist attack that happened on TV at a post office in San Francisco. Some lunatic walked into the place with a gun and shot and killed three people. Innocent, hard working, everyday people. What if something like that happened at Tony’s lab? What if someone walked into the lab and shot at people and Tony and his colleagues are hiding inside? Oh God. What if he’s already been shot? What if he’s bleeding out on the laboratory floor, hoping I’m thinking of him? 

 

I try to remain calm. Nothing like that would happen to Tony. And even if it did, he’s smart. He would find a way out and come home. I wrap myself tighter in the blanket and inhale. Tony’s scent clouds my mind of worry. Maybe if I will it hard enough, Tony will be alright and appear right outside my door. I let myself be drifted to sleep, knowing that Tony will be there besides me in the morning.

 

I groan as my mind awakes from its slumber. I open my eyes to see darkness. I sit up, feeling my way around the room. How long was I asleep? It feels like I’ve been asleep for hours and it’s still dark in my room. Which means Tony has come in to wake me up yet. It doesn’t take me long to find the light switch. I flip the switch and let my eyes adjust to the sudden light. The dim light outside of my single window tells me it must be close to dawn. I go to kneel besides the door, waiting for Tony to greet me.

 

He loves it when i wake up on my own and wait for him to give me my breakfast. The thought of breakfast makes my stomach rumble as I remember how I hadn’t been given dinner. Tony probably worked late last night and just forgot to leave me something to eat. And when he got home, he probably saw how I was already asleep, so he let me rest instead of waking me up to get dinner. I let out a yawn as I stare at the locked door. I count for a while and before I know it, I hit 3600 seconds; a full hour. Fear grows inside me as I realize Tony hasn’t made it back home. Or he could still be sleeping. He’s probably just sleeping. I get up walk towards the door, my toes touching it’s cold wood. Tony hates it when I pound on the door but it if means I’ll wake him up, then so be it. 

 

“Mr. Stark!” I shout as I slam my fists against the door.

 

My voice cracks as I yell and hit the doors wooden exterior with my palms. I count the intervals between each hit and each yell. I walk away from the door after 1012 seconds. I let my body recover from using so much energy, I heave as I catch my breath. Is he ignoring me? No, he’s never done that before. I rush to the door again, just to be sure. I pound and scream with tenfold the force from before. I count 385 seconds. I back away from the door. 

 

Oh God. Oh God. He’s punishing me. He’s teaching me a lesson. What did I do? I’ve been nice to him for so long. What did I say? What did I forget? I fall to the floor as I cry. I try to remember but I can’t think of a single thing I did. Haven’t I been good? He keeps telling me that day after day that I’m becoming more and more obedient. Have I not been good enough? Is this a test? That’s it! It has to be some ultimate exam, a true test of my obedience. 

 

I regain composer and tiptoe my way to the bed. I’ll just sit and wait. I’ll show him I can be good. I can do it. I still myself and slow my breathing. I lay down on the bed, staring up at the window across the room. I can do this, I remind myself. I try not to count but it’s such a comfort after doing it for so long. I get to 18000. The sun is in full shine against my small window. I count to 7000 seconds. The sun’s beam is making its way across the pane, now just short of fully being past my view. It has to be around one now. My stomach rumbles and my throat swells. There’s nothing in here to quench my hunger or thirst. 

 

I’m pretty sure I count another hour but soon the numbers all fade from my thoughts. I sit and stare. I blink once and then twice.

 

“He’s left me to die,” I mumble out loud.

 

It hadn’t occurred to me before that Tony would leave me in here without water and food for a reason. He hasn’t come back because he wants me to die. Why would he want to kill me? What did I do? What did I do to deserve this? Out of all the things I know I deserved, why do I deserve to die? Have I really been that bad? Or does he just hate me? I let out a dry sob and cover my face with my hands. 

 

Memories come flooding back as I openly sob into my pillow. Times when I disobeyed Tony and paid the consequences. All the times I tried to escape and fought back. I should’ve escaped when I had the chance. I shake my head, more tears spilling. Tony’s been so good to me, he’s given me food and a place to sleep and sheltered me. Tony said it himself, if I were back out there I’d probably be dead. It’s better to stay with him. Protruding thoughts enter my head: If he’s so good to me, then why is he leaving me to die? 

 

I let my mind be clouded with thoughts I hadn’t heard in a long time. One after the other, terribly depressing thoughts establish themselves in the back of my mind. 

 

‘He’s your abuser! Do you want to spend what could be the remainder of your life crying over him?’

 

‘You’ve grown to trust a man as evil as him and with it, your brain’s turned to mush.’

 

‘You’re crying over a man who kidnapped you, raped you, beat you and tortured you for the past year. And all you can do is cry over him leaving you. What have we become?’ 

 

I scream out. I force the blankets off of me with one swift motion. I run to the door, screaming, yelling, forcing my throat to convey the whirlwind of emotions I felt inside. I know nobody will answer. But I scream foul obscenities anyway. I wish Tony could hear what I’ve had to say for the past year. I want him to hear all the things I wanted to do but didn’t because I let my mind be his slave. 

 

I eventually lean against the door to steady my breathing. I try to think of something to infuriate me more. My mind races back to when he kidnapped me. I was fifteen and freshmen year had just ended. Me and Ned had planned an entire summer together. We had weekends color coded on a calendar, red indicating I’d be spending the night at his house and blue meant he’d be spending the night we me and Aunt May. I shake with the mention of my family. I hadn’t let myself think of them in so long. I tried to remember what Aunt May looked like, but little details like how long her hair was and how dark her eyes were can’t come to focus. 

 

I miss her so much. I miss Ned and MJ. I even miss Flash messing around with me everyday. I cry as I remember the exact day. I used to remember the date, and I would try to count how long it had been since I had been taken. I gave up quickly when I realized that wherever I am, it’s far away from Queens. Aunt May wouldn’t find me. And she never did. I’ve already been lost in the thousands of cases of missing boys. 

 

I was walking to the store late at night. Aunt May was sick, she told me not to go out so late but I did anyway. I wanted to get her medicine, I just wanted her to feel better. But I went out late and Tony saw me. I didn’t even reach the store. Aunt May probably feels like it’s her fault. Guilt and pain pools in my stomach. It’s that or the ever-present hunger I feel. 

 

“You need a ride?” Tony said from his car.

 

I was walking down the street in my pajamas, but I didn’t care. I knew the store was only a quick walk down the street. It should’ve only taken me fifteen minutes to grab what she needed and go back home. I turned around and spotted Tony in his sleek black car, his head only visible because he had the tinted window all the way down. I shook my head.

 

“No thanks, sir. I can walk,” I said.

 

Aunt May and Uncle Ben had taught me after moving to Queens to treat everyone like an intruder, but with kindness. I couldn’t trust a random man off the street, no matter how cool his car looked. But Tony wasn’t taking no for an answer. He slowly drove behind me as I made my way towards the store. I made the stupid mistake of thinking I could run. I was scared and thought that if I ran fast enough, he’d leave me alone. Why did I think that would work? I should’ve just turned around and confronted him or called the police. I thought I could run away and he ran me over. My legs were crushed underneath the expensive car. Tony emerged from the vehicle and laughed at me.

 

“Come on, I’ll fix you up.”

 

I remember thrashing around in his arms, despite the excruciating pain coursing through my body. I screamed but something was holding back my noise. I remember being thrown into the back of car with force, and feeling Tony tie something around my wrists. I must have been out for hours because when I woke up, we were still driving. I was dazed and confused and my legs felt like jello. It was bright outside now and there were trees on either side of the road. I fell asleep soon after and this time woke up in my room.

 

‘Not my room. This is not my bedroom. This is my jail cell.’

 

I push myself away from the door and sit on the ground, taking in the disgusting cell I’ve had to live in for the last year. Chipped walls and a cement floor, one small window at the top of the wall, one bed without a headboard, one dresser, one toilet, shower and sink in the corner, one nightstand, one locked door. For a year I’ve been forced to live in a cage. I’m the animal in the basement. I’ve seen the upstairs a few times with Tony. It’s gorgeous and modern and chic. But he forces me, his plaything, to live in squalor. 

 

I think back to all the chances I had to escape. The times where Tony let his guard down and I didn’t take the risk and run. One profound memory that sticks out was when Tony was first placing the TV in the room. He was frustrated, having stared at the instructions for well over an hour and still not understanding how the bottom supporter connected to the TV. I remember looking at the screwdriver. I could’ve reached over and ended it. I could’ve killed him. And I remember wanting to for a split second. But I felt guilty. ‘He’s been so nice to me. I’m finally getting a TV.’ I thought. I curse myself for being so stupid and obedient, just what he loves. 

 

If the Peter from then had been me now, I would’ve killed him. I wouldn’t have thought twice. I would’ve shoved the screwdriver’s end into his eye sockets and watched his body convulse as he bled and cried out. I would laugh. I was almost laughing right now just thinking about it. 

And for once, I don’t feel guilty about wanting to hurt him. I want to dig a knife so far into his stomach that when I pull it back out, his insides cling to the blade’s edge. I want to gut him open and twist every organ. I want to scream and choke him with my bare hands. I want him to writhe in pain beneath me and cry like I did. I want to hurt him and kill him and scream and cry all at once. I want him to pay for making me like this and I want him to feel what I felt. I bring my knees close to me, trying to stop myself from shaking with anger. 

 

He’s left me here to die. I’ll die of hunger or thirst and he’ll bury me in his backyard. No one will find me. No one will mourn me. And I wish only the same for him. 

 

I lost count of the seconds. I don’t think it matters anymore. Who cares how many more seconds it takes until my body gives up and I wither away? I remember learning in school once that it takes two days for someone to die of thirst and thirty days for someone to die of hunger. This is the second day without water, isn’t it? Will it be tonight, when I’m fast asleep? Or will I have to suffer for another 86400 seconds? I hope it comes soon and it doesn’t hurt. Hopefully I’ll die in my sleep. 

 

Tony Stark, a man I’d heard about in men’s magazines about science and innovation, is my kidnapper, my rapist, my abuser, my nightmare. He’s tortured me for more than a year. I celebrated my sixteenth birthday in a dungeon and my present was being raped. I celebrated the last two Christmases being beat. I’ve been here for over a year. Thirst and hunger aren’t killing me. It’s being here. It’s being tortured by the hands of a menace. A fucking evil, tyrant, maleficent monster. I close my eyes and rest my head on my knees. The last thing I want before I die is some deserved rest. 

 

When I open my eyes, bright light shines throughout my now dim room. Did I turn the lights out? Was there a power outage? As I adjust my eyes, I see a tall figure shadowed by the lack of light in my room. I shift my gaze upwards and my mouth forms a meek smile. 

 

It’s Tony. 

 

“Mr. Stark,” I cough.

 

He steps into the room, his body falls to his knees to meet my gaze. His face is inches away from mine. I squint. He looks pained and upset.

 

‘Oh God, did I make him upset?’

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” he starts, “I forgot I had a trip with a colleague. I rushed home when I remembered that you didn’t have anything to eat or drink. You poor thing.”

 

He cups my face with his hand. I manage another smile. He doesn’t hate me! He didn’t leave me to die. I let him pour two water bottles into my mouth. I salvate just thinking about the food he’ll feed me. 

 

“Mr. Stark,” I say as I swallow the last of the water, “I missed you.”

 

I can feel the anger dissipate. It sweeps away all that I thought I wanted to do to him. All the intrusive thoughts about hurting him. I cringe. Why would I hurt him? Why would I hurt someone who came back to save me? 

 

“I know you did. You poor, poor thing.” 

 

Tony leans in and kisses me softly. I feel his tongue part my dry lips. I smile into the kiss and close my eyes. He tastes sweet. The resentment hides inside of me. I pull it back into the depths of my mind and lock it up. My emotions swirl as I tuck it away and force my happiness to take control. Tony kisses me back a little too hard and I can feel a small drop of blood swell inside my mouth. But it’s fine. It’s what I deserve anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was requested by lemonicide and then a bunch of people thought it would be cool and so did I, so voila! I really love writing from the perspective of an unreliable narrator and thought this would be such a cool idea to implement it in. 
> 
> Don't forget to send me more suggestions if you haven't already. And comments really make my day!


	3. Red Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds himself on the dark web where he learns that monsters are real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> Gore  
> Murder
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The usernames used in this fiction are from actual chat logs of child predators found on the dark web. The links used in this fiction are possibly real tor links and can be accessed with tor downloaded. I advise you to not try this out as I have no idea where the fictious link will lead.

Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t dabble in the dark web. It started as simple morbid curiosity. After having seen dozens of YouTube videos on what you could access on the dark web, he figured it wouldn’t be so bad to try it out. It only took twenty minutes for him to download tor, the only known way to crack open URLs that will take you into the illegal side of the internet. He started with the basics. Tutorials showed him how to access the wiki and from there how to get to torrented movies and games.

After only having tor downloaded for an hour, he was downloading the newest blockbuster hits. And not those obnoxious film rips where a jackass smuggles his DLXR camera into the cinema and films the movie. Peter got to watch actual films and play games as if he bought them. Sure, it was wrong and illegal but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Besides, who wants to pay up to sixty dollars on a game when you can torrent a Steam code for it for free?

 After spending a week binging on every Avengers film, Peter had found a large list of online forums through the dark web’s wiki. Some were harmless, like forums to book clubs and underground fantasy leagues. Some were more promiscuous, forums on kinks and fetishes were scattered across the wiki. They ranged from tame kinks like foot fetishes to extreme crushing and popping fetish forums. Peter had always made sure to quickly close out of the more inappropriate websites to shield himself from having to see its porn.

Porn was also another abundant thing to find on the dark web. It took a bit of searching, but after while Peter would come across dozens of free porn sites. He once found a site dedicated to free HD porn rips from PornHub, the one’s blocked for free users. After spending an agonizing eight hours in school, he canceled all of this plans to watch over three hours of the free porn.

Today was no different from any other. Peter went to school, came home, had dinner with May, and retreated to his room to spend hours on the dark web. With his fingers tapping away at the keys, he turned on his stereo and listened to music while he cruised the now familiar sites on the darker side of the internet. It was hard to look for anything specifically since tor eliminates URLs, meaning you can’t type in _www.bigtittiesforu.com_  and get a web page. Peter had to actually search for what he wanted through wikis and forums. It could take hours to find something interesting.

Peter decided to start with the wiki, where he found himself shuffling through dozens of forums and chat rooms. He closed out of over twenty sites when he heard a small cartoonish like pop come from his monitor.

  


**̴̬͉͕̮̺͉̥̯̄I̶̘̬̞̼̓́͜Ņ̶̜̮͍̖̊V̵̨̡̢̦̖͚̣̱̦͓̎̋̒̎ͅI̷̢͓̗̰͚͕͚͓̯̝̺̫̋̿̐̎͑̈́̐T̴͓͚͓̦͉͙̼̞͍̲͕̯̜̠͓̀̃͗͂̒͋͜͝A̶̡̘͙̯̤͎͎͗̈́͜͜T̵̨̧̳͖̲̗̳͔͇̘̟̱̻͗̒͗̆̋̏͋̏̎̓̈́̓͒̚͜͜͝͝I̸̛̬͍͎̮̼̠͕͂͐̃̋̉̆Ơ̴̪̫͙̪̳̫̆̇͋Ņ̸̳̬͕̰̞̖͚̥͇̯̯̥̓̑̈͐̌͒̊̾̊̒͝ ̷̨̗̯̩̦͎͎̲͖̻̻͇̯̮̤͈͂̀͛̃͐̓̕͘**

  
  


It was hard to see through the glitched text, but Peter was sure the small orange box at the bottom of his screen read ‘invitation’. Underneath was even more glitched text surrounding the word ‘go’. He knew tor often disregarded adblock and some ads would get pushed through even on the dark web. Peter knew the pop up was likely a trap. His computer would be hacked or get a virus and go corrupt. He moved his mouse on top of the orange box, but saw no escape button. It looked like he couldn’t deny this invitation. He scanned the entire box five times, running his mouse over the edges of the orange box. On the sixth try, he saw a small red ‘x’ and quickly hit it.

 Suddenly, his entire monitor went black. Peter scrambled to hit the lamp on his desk. Surely enough there was still power. He panicked, thinking he had accidentally clicked outside of the ‘x’ and frantically smashed the keys on his keyboard. He even hit the power button on his monitor to ensure the monitor hadn’t broken a bulb. Peter looked back at his computer, dumbfounded and astonished. His PC was probably undergoing a hundred viruses right now and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 “Honey,” called Aunt May from outside of Peter’s room.

 “Yeah?” Peter yelled back half-heartedly staring at the remnants of his computer.

 “I was thinking pizza tomorrow because of the next weekend. Maybe you can invite Ned?”

 It would be a flattering gesture if Peter wasn’t in a state of total shock. He shot her back with an empty response. But when his mouth closed, his monitor roared back to life. His screen was filed with a video and what looked like a live chat next to it. Nothing was going on in the video. A chair sat in the middle of an empty, dark room. But the chat was going wild, with half a dozen comments every few seconds. Peter squinted as he tried to read some of the messages.

 

**_Darkknight420: time for her go_ **

**_Bleu0kamaze: the only thing i look forward to on thursday nights anymore_ **

**_Louisianamaster1973: Hope it’s a pretty one. Been feeling off all day, Raven. Need this stream to start soon so I can cream out a nice one._ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: wheres the fuckn stream!!! I wana see blood bitches!!!_ **

**_Zigdog2k3:_ ** **_wil een kut zien bloeden en sterven._ **

**_Swgamaleyess_ ** **_: i only took 2 months of dutch in college, but i kno whtever zigdog wants is vile. Bring it on, raven._ **

 

Peter read the strange chat but only had more questions than answers. He looked around the feed and saw a small counter at the top.

 

**Viewers: 183**     **Victim: 26F** **Days left: 1**

 

Peter tried to make sense of the numbers before him. Viewers had to mean that 183 people were watching the stream. The 'Victim: 26F' made no sense to him and days left might be how much time is left until the stream. Before Peter could comment, a muffled sound came from his computer. He watched as a screaming girl was dragged into the dark room and shoved into the ominous chair by a large man wearing all black. Peter hurriedly paused his music from his phone and plugged his earbuds into the monitor. As he clicked them in, he was met with another wretched scream.

 The chat went wild and the man holding the poor girl captive looked back at the stream and nodded, as if he was pleased with seeing how much the chat was enjoying this. The girl seated in the chair looked like she had been beaten already. Her eyes were swollen shut and her lip busted. Dried blood poured from a long and deep scar on her collarbone. She was wearing what looked like raged street clothes that were dirty and blood soaked. Despite her grip on the chair’s arms, Peter could just barely see that her right index finger had been cut off.

Peter watched as the man grabbed a fist full of the woman’s hair and lunged her toward the camera. The view was only of her beaten, crying face. Peter tried to read some of the comment that zipped by as the man paraded the poor girl.

 

**_Bleu0kamaze: hmm fuck yeah make her cry_ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: raven!! Make that bitch bleed!! I cant stand her crying anymore_ **

**_Axar556: cut the left breast off 0.319_ ** **_₿_ **

**_Zigdog2k3: l_ ** **_aat haar kronkelen van pijn en huilen voor ala om haar leven te beëindigen_ **

 

Peter read Axar’s comment and a fear so primal struck his chest. The man ripped the girl away from the camera and forced her to sit back on the chair. He reached beyond the view of the screen and reappeared with a large pair of heavy duty shears. He first cut away the girl’s shirt, leaving her abdomen completely exposed. Peter watched as the man, who he assumes is the one the chat was referring to as ‘Raven’, grabs the girls left breasts and lifts the shears up to her. She cried in earnest as the chat began to fly across Peter’s screen. The Raven placed the lengthy blades of the shears against each side of her breasts and easily chopped it clean off. A large chunk of her own body fell flat on her lap as she screams.

 Peter’s eyes stung and tears spilled forth. Why would anyone want to watch this happen to someone? He tried to search for an escape button on the feed but found none. Even pressing the escape key hadn’t worked. He couldn’t watch this anymore. As he tried to exit the hellish site, the chat roared with more comments and requests.

 

**_Louisianamaster1973: Since this is the last time we’ll be spending time with this one, let’s end it off with a bang. Stab a hole into her throat and fuck her until she chokes on your dick and blood. 1.221_ ** **_₿_ **

**_Darkknight420: fucking glorious lil stank she is. Well deserved death_ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: yes louisiana !! make her bleed!! 0.456_ ** **_₿_ ** **_tip!!!_ **

 

The Raven nodded to the screen yet again as he reached across the view. He came back with a small pocket blade with a hilted tip. Peter watched as the bastard grabbed the almost unconscious girl by her brown hair and tilted her head back. A deep and distorted voice spoke to her. She meekly nodded her head, seemingly ready for her life to end. The Raven then plunged the blade into her throat. Peter cringed and felt even more tears fall as the girl made a pathetic gurgling noise as blood squirted out of her grotesque throat.

 The Raven acted quickly and proceeded to pull his member from his dark pants. The chair reclined back with the push of a lever and soon the man was riding the girl’s chest, his cock buried inside of her throat. Peter muted the volume to avoid hearing the awful squishing and squelching of the victims throat. Soon the Raven pulled away from the girl, his penis covered in a thick coat of blood. Protruding from the girl’s throat was semen and blood. Peter watched as the chat applauded the sick fuck for ending the poor girl’s life.

 

**_Swgamaleyess_ ** : **_brilliant job raven. 0.176_ ** **_₿_ **

**_Qxaboi19: hot shit right here. Hott hott. Here have this 1.019_ ** **_₿_ **

**_ZigDog2k3:_ ** **_bloedde als een varken. heerlijk werk, raaf. 0.421_ ** **_₿_ **

**_Louisianamaster1973: Thanks for the stream, Raven. Amazing job as always. Here’s a bit of an extra tip 0.109_ ** **_₿_ **

 

Peter read the numbers the chat was paying the Raven. He didn’t know much about bitcoin but knew it was worth more than any other currency in the world. He remembered hearing that just one full bitcoin was worth over four thousand dollars. He didn’t want to go back and add and multiply to get the amount this sick fuck was making off of murdering innocent people. Suddenly, the man moved to cover his exposed member. Peter slowly raised his volume back to its original level as the man in front seemed to be saying something through the black mask. He could hear the same distorted voice, but louder and clear. He was directly communicating with the audience of his sick show.

 “Thank you all for your continued support,” spoke the monster, “The hunt is on for the next victim.”

 The man reached over to what Peter assumed was his own keyboard and started typing. Peter looked up to see the numbers had gone blank.

 

**Viewers: 245** **Victim: -** **Days left: -**

 

“Let’s hope the next one will be more … interesting,” said the Raven.

 Peter sneered at his monitor. How dare a man who just took a life claim it all to be too boring for him? As if he hadn’t just ruined that girl’s entire family. He quickly tried typing into the chat before the stream went offline. It requested him to input a username, but his computer had autofiled it with his preferred username: _WebSlinger02._ Peter hit accept and began typing his disdain for this disgusting unjust doing.

 

**_WebSlinger02: wtf is wrong with you people!?! You all just sit and watch a girl die by this lunatic and give him money for doing it?? You sick fucks, you’ll all go to hell._ **

**_Bleu0kamaze: who let him in_ **

**_Swgamaleyess_ ** **_: looks like we’ve found an outsider. Care to introduce yourself, Peter? Or should we do it for you?_ **

 

Peter stopped typing. His heart pounded in his chest. How had they known his name? He watched as the chat sprung into a frenzy, dozens of comments flooded the chat feed.

 

**_Qxaboi19: oh, raven. You oughta look at this one._ **

**_Bleu0kamaze: someones fucked up. Say goodbye to ur life as u know it, Petey._ **

**_Louisianamaster1973: I’m not typically into boys, but Qxa’s right, Raven. You have to look at how pretty he is._ **

**_Zigdog2k3: kleine Peter is slechts zestien en woont in New York. pak hem, raaf_ **

**_Swgamaleyess: Zig’s right. Lives in NYC. Sixteen, ward of state. How did a lil brat manage to find this room?_ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: someone post a pic of this fucker!! I cant see him like you guys!! Link it plzz!!!_ **

**_Qxaboi19: 181h12ab128pe128823b1.onion/full_ **

 

Peter’s hands began to shake with fear. How did they get this information? He managed to press his palm to the top of his mouse and hovered over the tor link. It opened a small tab that brought up an encrypted site that was private and only those with the link can view it. Peter watched as the small mouse spun in circles until finally, his face, specifically his ninth grade yearbook photo, covered the entire tab. His eyes widened as the chat roared on.

 

**_Darkknight420: oh wow hes real pretty._ **

**_Swgamaleyess: hes prettier when hes crying sitting at his desk wearing a star wars tshirt._ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: wow!! Absolutely need to see his boy bleed next!!!_ **

 

Peter’s face drained of all color as he realized that one of these bastards had hacked into his webcam. He quickly rips a post-it note off of the holder and sticks it over his webcam. He smashed the escape button a hundred times but nothing’s worked. He can’t power down the computer or else he could get hacked. Without properly closing the feed, his computer would be easily accessible and these sick fucks can gather even more information about him.

 Peter turned his attention to the Raven as he carefully watched the uproar the chat has spiraled into. Before Peter can react, the feed was abruptly cut off and all that’s left was the chat, which was still open. He braces himself and begins to type again.

 

**_WebSlinger02: fuck you all. Im not scared of you._ **

**_Swgamaleyess: all bark and no bite._ **

**_Darkknight420: id be scared if i were you, you lil cunt. Your pretty face is about to be plastered all over this stream next week._ **

**_Thedragonreborn_30: fucking pretty boy!!! Youll see how scary it is being at the hand of the devils evil!!! Make him bleed raven plz!!!_ **

**_Axar556: its not us you should be scared of._ **

  * **_The_Raven has ended the chat_**



 

 

  * **_**_The_Raven has started a private chat invite only event_**_**



 

 

 

  * **_**_The_Raven has invited WebSlinger02 to the chat_**_**



 

**_The_Raven: They are right, you know._ **

 

Peter took a shaky breath and gulped down his fear. It spilled into his chest and threatened to rise back up to his throat again. He breathed deeper and leveled himself. This had to be some sick joke. Or this was all snuf film in the process and that girl is really okay and none of these guys in the chat meant any harm. Everything has to be a rouse for some documentary to use to warn kids about the dangers of the dark web. Peter almost willed himself to believe it before he read the Raven's last message.  


**_The_Raven: Peter Parker, Ý̴̧̜̜̜̯͚̬̝̼̮̽̐̇̈́̎͝O̶͈͊̋̋͐̾U̴͙͉͕͉̫̺̯̜̽͆̇̽͌͐̔͘̕'̵̡̮̪̜̯͉̼̝̺̽̒̾̍̇̑̓ͅR̶̖͑̐̏̆Ḝ̴̘̹̠̦͂̔͋̑͌͋̌͆͂͐͜ͅ ̶̨̹̩̭͚͕̈̉̾̕Ņ̶̢̲̜̖̙̳͎͗̿ͅE̶̹͉̅͗̌̐̿̕X̴̛̟̰͕͈̌̋̑̈̆͋͝͝͝Ţ̶̹͕̞͉̝̦̯͇́̇̐̎̒͜͠͝_ **

 

**Viewers: 1     Victim: 16M    Days left: 21**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and still not writing any submissions. There are some fantastic prompts you guys have given me but I've been a little busy. Here's this gore-fest that came from the depths of my own brain. I am still taking suggestions though and I always love to see what you guys can come up with! Comments on this chapter would be greatly appreciated, I was worried this might be a little too dark. Please let me know what you guys think!


	4. Human Trafficking Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is the world's most beloved inventor but he has a crutch: He's addicted to buying sex from underaged sex slaves. And when he sees a local young boy being sold online, he makes no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Sexual child abuse  
> Human sex trafficking  
> Pedophilia
> 
> DISCLAIMER:   
> The links provided are real tor links. I don't know where they lead to. Please be careful when using the dark web.
> 
> This one is particularly dark and it will get darker as I continue this mini-series. Please be careful when reading this one.

Tony’s not a bad guy, he swears. He’s a smart man who helps people and the scientific world with his inventions. He’s created inventions designed to better humanity, things that have revolutionized the world of technology as we know it. He’s resourceful, he’s charming, he’s intelligent, and people love Tony Stark because Tony Stark loves the people. But there’s one thing Tony loves more than helping the people of New York.

It’s late at night, Pepper is asleep and his office is empty. His personal computer sits in front of him in the dark room, illuminating his tired face. He drags the mouse across the pad, moving the cursor until it hovers over the web browser at the bottom of his home page. He double clicks on the purple onion icon and a white web page welcomes him to the dark net. The banner reminds him to be wary of strangers and that he should try out the hidden wiki links provided. Tony skips the usual ritual of browsing forums and obscure websites, and heads straight to his inbox.

His dark web email, a random slew of numbers and letters that all frequent users advise, chimes a few times to notify him of new mail. He clicks the letter icon and he notices there’s four new emails for him to check. He skims through the subjects of each email. There’s one advertising something going on sale on the Silk Road, two of them are notifications of a reply on a comment he made on a forum, the most recent one is what he’s looking for.

**From: Black Death** **_blackdeathgroup@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_**

**Subject: We Are Back**

**Good news, user manofgold@wp.li, Black Death is back in action on our new site. You can now find us at 3juwoe82ms02.onion/new.**

**The system controllers at Black Death would like to sincerely apologize to all past and present Black Death customers for our long absence. We were under federal investigation once again. The old tor link will no longer work, and you must be a pre-existing member for our system to recognize you. If you have forgotten your password, please follow instructions here at 3juwoe82ms02.onion/password_recovery.**

**If you were in the middle of a transaction before the old site was terminated, please follow instructions here at 3juwoe82ms02.onion/return_exchange_refund.**

Tony smiled and clicked the first link. He was beyond excited for the new Black Death site to get it’s official wide rerelease. Back in August of last year, the site had been quarantine by the FBI for the third time. So for the last seven months, Tony’s been resorting to the more mainstream sites on the dark net where cops lurk at every corner and fake postings are everywhere. He liked Black Death because it wasn’t popular like I Will Neutralize or the Silk Road, it was discreet and private but full of what he was looking for.

Until someone on the system kidnapped that model from the United Kingdom and everyone’s eyes were on the site. Tony wasn’t active on the site around the time in 2015, when a young model was sold on Black Death for what was rumored to millions. Tony never truly believed the rumors, for all the years he’s been active on the site, he’s never seen someone being sold for more than hundred grand. But everyone in the British media eyed the site, so it was moved but again found and placed under federal investigation. Finally, after seven long months of waiting, Tony can access the site once more. The new site finally loaded and gave Tony a grim greeting.

**W̵̢ȨL̡̧Ç͠Ơ̸̢M̛Ȩ̶̕ ̵ B̡̛A͝҉Ç̡͞K**

**Please provide your username and password below. We are not accepting new members at this time.**

Tony provided his login information and was greeted with the familiar black screen. Red text boomed at him to check out recent listings, requests, sessions, and sales. Tony moved the cursor and clicked on recent listings. After several moments, the webpage loaded and hundreds of offers were listed on just the first page. Tony was worried not many previous sellers would come back but he was clearly wrong. In just the first few hour of the site being back online, it’s back to its peak activity.

Tony scrolled down the first few listings, it was mostly teen girls tied up with instructions, session lengths, costs, and availability listed on the sides of their pictures in red text. This was Tony’s one crutch, the one thing he couldn’t help but need: He rents and buys sex slaves online. He has preferences of course; he prefers males but females are fine every once in a while. He has a strict age limit; no one older than nineteen or younger than ten.

Tony knows it’s disgusting. He’s sick of himself. But he couldn’t suppress the urge any longer. He started feeling this way towards teenagers when he was in his early twenties. It wasn’t a problem then, he could control it with buying barely legal teen porn. But as he got older, it only grew and his tastes slowly slipped from young adults to straight up children. He was disgusted with himself when he started noticing it. But then he made it big in the scientific world. He had all the money in the world, a beautiful wife, and the public was in the palm of his hands. No one would suspect one of the world’s most renowned inventor. So he started to feed into his desires. He found Black Death and bought sessions with owned child slaves. Most weren’t local at all, and he’d have to pretend there were business meetings out in different states.

So when a listing for a local New York boy appears on his feed, Tony immediately clicks on the listing. He’s stunned to see an upclose picture of the boy smiling, clearly out of fear, but still. He’s gorgeous, young, close, and available right now. Tony runs his eyes across the listing in its entirety.

**NYC VIRGIN BOY - AVAILABLE NOW**

**Gender: M**

**Age: 15**

**Nationality: American**

**Race: White**

**Hair color: Brown**

**Eye color: Brown**

**Height: 5’5” / 165.1 cm**

**Weight: 112.6 lb / 51 kg**

**Type: Slim**

Tony looked across the screen to see the possible availability for the boy. He was being loaned and sold. He quickly read the regulations made by the lister.

**SESSION PACKAGE**

**Contact price: $35,000 / €30,760 / £26,450 / ₿9.24**

**Type: Solo + Group arrangements**

**Sessions: 5**

**Session time: Negotiable**

**Location: New York City, USA**

**Weapons: Defensive type only - not included**

**Trophies: Allowed**

**Filmography: Allowed**

Tony couldn’t help but grab the front of his pants as he read the listing. The boy was beyond perfect, and he was just what Tony needed right now. Tony kept reading, scrolling over to the for sale section.

**FOR SALE**

**Contact price: $74,000 / €65,040 / £55,920 / ₿19.56 - NON NEGOTIABLE**

**Type: Ownable**

**Pick up: New York City, USA**

**Transportation: Not provided**

**ADDITIONAL INFORMATION**

**Guaranteed virgin NYC boy. Not high profile. Dental work: Braces. No scars, tattoos, or birthmarks. Medical records: Not provided. Diseases: None.**

**PAYMENT OPTIONS**

**Type: Dollars, Euros, Pounds, + Bitcoin ONLY**

**ORDERING + PROCESSING INFORMATION**

 

  * ****Email jqsc1am@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion with payment option, time and date you want to receive product, loaning or buying, and additional questions and instructions.****


  * **Make all Bitcoin payments to this address: 1i88bbcw13dhcfaiw124**


  * **Cash must be provided up front at location before receiving product**



 

**Only pay from one Bitcoin address. Please use a separate sending and receiving email address. ALL SALES ARE FINAL. NONREFUNDABLE.**

Tony didn’t need to read the rest but he did anyway, combing through everything. This boy was expensive, something he’s sure is only because of the rarity of virgins. Tony quickly copied and pasted the email into the send section. He wasted no time in crafting the email.

**To:** **_jqsc1am@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**From:** **_hekwb2ns9@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**Subject: Interested in NYC boy listing**

**Hello, fellow Black Death member. I’m user manofgold@wp.li and I’m interested in the NYC boy you have listed on the site. I’m willing to buy him in American dollars. I’m located in NYC as well and can provide my own transportation to and back. I’d like to get started as soon as possible. The earliest date, the better. I can clear anything in a moment’s notice. Do tell me when you can get rid of him.**

Tony hits send and leans back. Did he really just offer to buy the boy? He’s never bought someone before, just traveled to the warehouses they held them in, had his fun, and left. Where would he even put him? How could he even hide him? He’s not a dog, he’s a human being, a child no less. He’s going to have to take care of him, but how? How can he manage a child, his wife, his social life, and his work all in one? That’s not even mentioning the public and how often he gives meetings, press events, and conferences. Tony leans forward, putting his head in his hands.  _ Shit.  _ He didn’t think this one through.

He’s about to email the lister again and tell him he’d rather buy the session package, when he gets a reply. Tony straightens himself and opens the email. He’s surprised they got to him so quickly. He usually waits at least a day before hearing back.

**From:** **_jqsc1am@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**Subject: RE Interested in NYC boy listing**

**I’m glad to hear you want it. I’ll take cash in only one payment: Up front fully. I don’t play the payment bullshit. You’re not an idiot, though. Seen you around the site before. Been here a while. I don’t buy, I just sell. But I know you do, and sellers like working with you. Don’t ruin the reputation. It’s ready to go now. I have a free night. If you’re close and eager, you can get it now. Unless you need time with money.**

The boy he wants is ready right  _ now.  _ But this isn’t the same as packing a day bag and leaving for a few hours to take a trip to Maine to have sex. This is taking someone home with him forever. Tony has to think about where he’d even put the boy. Not at the house, not with Pepper around. He owns vacation homes but they’re too far away to put a child alone. He can’t take a plane ride to Florida every time he needs to feed the kid.

The lab? It’s actually not a bad idea. He could keep the kid in the containment chambers on the third floor, only Tony has the key to that entire wing of the building. He’d have to make it a somewhat safe area for a kid to live in, but he could do it in easily. And no one would see him dragging in a teenager at two in the morning. He types his response to the seller.

**To:** **_jqsc1am@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**From:** **_hekwb2ns9@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**Subject: RE RE Interested in NYC boy listing**

**I have all of the cash now. And of course, no bullshit. I’ll be there within two hours. I’m going to need the coordinates and info on where I can park to make it easy to get him inside. I’ll make this quick and easy, I promise you’ll never have to deal with me again. No legal problems, no tricks, no bullshit.**

Tony’s already sliding the jacket hanging on his desk chair over his shoulders. He tries to take a mental intake of how much money he has saved in the vault. There’s more than seventy-four grand in there for sure, he’s just making certain that the money won’t go noticed by his wife. He checks his watch; it’s nearing two thirty and New York is asleep. Everyone’s asleep except him and the seller and there’s only one thing keeping him from dashing out of the door right now, an answer. He doesn’t have to wait long because without four minutes the seller has replied.

**From:** **_jqsc1am@torbox3uiot6wchz.onion_ **

**Subject: RE RE RE Interested in NYC boy listing**

**This has to be the fastest deal I’ve ever made. I’m in a warehouse in the Meatpacking District in Greenwich Village. Do you know the Spotted Pig Diner? I’m in the warehouse directly across from it. The back is closed off and gated. You can park there.**

Tony didn’t even realize just how close he really was. When he was in college everyone went to the Spotted Pig, it has delicious asian cuisine for a decent price. He’s only a twenty minute drive from the Spotted Pig right now. He quickly types back a response and is out the door. His feet pound down the stone steps of his large house as he runs to his car. He jumps in, letting the enhanced engine speed as he drives past Midtown and into Greenwich.

Tony’s heart pounds. How many times has he done this before? Probably well over a hundred, but here is, scared and nervous like it’s his first time again. He knows it should feel different, there’s an entire different risk with buying a person rather have buying sex from them. Different risks, different costs, different jail sentences. Tony ignores his worries and speeds down Greenwich Street, almost hitting a few drunken tourists on his way down.

He looks around as he pulls up the diner’s front. The lights are dimmed and there’s no one on the street. Across the street is a red brick warehouse with only one sign on the side of the building, ‘Inquire about Rent here’ and then a phone number listed at the bottom. He pulls his car into reverse to look for the gate. It’s one the same side as the sign and already opened. Tony drives straight for it, pulling into the pavement. He reaches back and grabs his satchel, lugs it over his shoulder and huffs. He pulls the hood of the coat over his head and keeps his head down as he walks out of the care and onto the pavement.

Tony doesn’t even know if the guy is ready yet. But he knocks on the door anyway, ready for the worst. It takes three minutes for a young black man to open the door. He looks him up and down for a moment before remembering the transaction. 

“You ‘manofgold’? From Black Death?” Asks the young man.

Tony doesn’t speak, he just nods. The man nods and opens the door, ushering Tony in. Tony inches his way into the empty space. He looks over to see the man walking away. He follows him down three separate corridors, all paved with cement. The warehouse is huge but empty. I must have been up for sale and the man saw the opportunity and took it. Tony’s not surprised when the man leads him down another hallway and reveals maybe a dozen naked boys and girls, all suspended from rope from the ceiling.

The children are separated maybe ten feet apart each. One side has three boys and the other nine girls. Most of the are sleeping standing up, the poor things. Tony moves his over to the male side and sees the boy he’s about to buy; suspended in the corner of the large room. Even he is slumbering with the rest, his arms tied far above his head. Tony keeps his as low as he when the man turns to face him. He can’t risk being caught in public, even if he does have this man’s trust.

“It’s over there,” says the man as he points to the boy, “How do you wanna do this? Knock him out? Drug him? I ain’t the transporter, this is up to you. I just sell. No touching, no moving, no nothing. Not with kids anyway.”

Tony can see him eye him up and down again with a slight disdain on his face. So the guy thinks he has morals, he doesn't hurt kids so he’s not in the wrong. He only sells them to creeps on the internet, who will rape the fuck out of them or pimp them out until they die. But sure, let him think he’s not just as evil as Tony.

Tony ignores him and dumps the bag on the floor with a solid thump. He opens the satchel to reveal the thousands of dollars in cash he has. He open a small compartment on the side and pulls out an already full syringe. He lifts the bag and shoves it into the man’s arms as he carries the syringe towards the back of the room.

“I’ve heard from the other sellers you don’t talk much. But I didn’t think you’d be this quiet,” the man jokes.

Tony only nods as he nears the young boy. He’s gorgeous and small and beautiful. He slowly takes his unoccupied hand to grip the boy’s cheek, rubbing small circles into it. It’s soft and delicate and just the thought alone of it being stained with his cum is intoxicating. Tony lightly slaps the area a few times, affectively waking the boy. He’s immediately alert and thrashing, other children start waking up around them.

“Hey! Calm him the fuck down. This is my operation, dick. Just take him and go,” pleads the black man.

The look in the kid’s eyes are heaven. There’s tears pooling and he looks like a fallen angel. He tries to kick Tony’s legs, but he moves before his foot makes contact. He holds his face in his hand, forcing his neck to be on display.

“Stop! Fuck you. Let go of me! You’re not taking me anywhere!” Screams the boy.

Tony laughs as he brings the syringe up to the child’s exposed neck, slowly pushing the clear liquid in. Within seconds, he’s flaccid. Tony reaches up to undo the teen’s restraints. The other children are all awake now, frighteningly watching as Tony adjusts him in his arms. He carries him to the edge of the room where the black man still stands. He throws the syringe on the ground, stomps on it until it’s shattered to pieces and leaves with the boy unconscious in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm deeply, deeply sorry for what I'm doing to poor Peter. He's been through a lot in just four short stories! I'd love to continue this one as well as the Red Room short story which I've already working on. Please don't forget to leave comments and tell me what you think about this story in particular.


	5. Human Trafficking Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony places Peter in the containment room and when he wakes up he makes him believe he's there to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Graphic Violence  
> Sexual child abuse  
> Pedophilia  
> Rape
> 
> Please be careful when reading this one. It's very, very dark and it disgusted me to even write it.

Tony lays on the horn when a car cuts him off halfway to Midtown. It’s nearing four in the morning now and his first employees will be at Stark Tower in less than two hours. The kid is sprawled on the back seat, still unconscious and naked. Tony’s grateful his car has extremely tinted windows, or he’d be worried about cameras catching him transport a young, naked boy. The drive back is somehow twice as long than the drive to the warehouse. Tony keeps running into sudden red lights, homeless men running out on the road, cops stationed on street corners. Everything is alerting him now and he’s sure someone will stop him, see the boy and call the police.

This is way too risky. He tried to act like he was used to it at the warehouse, but Tony’s petrified. This could easily be the end of him. That sleeping bundle of flesh and arousal in the back could ruin his life. Was he seriously going to risk it all for a fifteen year old boy? Tony couldn’t let himself think of what feels like his inevitable demise. He cursed as he pulled into the tower’s parking lot too hard and ran over the cement curb. His car plopped back down on the ground with a jerk. He looked back at the boy; still sleeping.

Tony pulls into his reserved parking space inside the lot, thanking his past self for choosing a spot in the overpass shielded from public view. He stops the car and walks over to the other side, opening the back car door. He looks at the nude boy and freezes. How the hell is he going to carry him in? Sure, carrying him from the warehouse to the car was a little difficult, but it was only a short walk. Now he has to carry him from the parking lot to the third floor. He’s nearing his fifties, his back is going to give out in the first floor.

The kid’s not going to wake up for another few hours and the tower’s going to be opening soon. He can’t wait at all, this has to be done somehow. Tony leans against the car, his head held in his hands. This was a mistake. How can he pull this off if he can’t even get the kid inside? A car outside the enclosed lot hits its horn so hard it bounces off the walls of the lot. Tony looks up and sees in the lot’s entrance; a shopping cart.

Thank God for the New York homeless and they’re will to steal carts from grocery stores. He shuts the car door and jogs over to the cart. He pushes on it to see if the wheels are booted, and when it awkwardly rolls a bit in front of him, he smiles. He grips the carts handle bars which are red and advertise the Walgreens on fifth street. He’s so excited he almost runs into his car with the cart. When the door is opened again, he’s happy to see the boy still asleep. He’s quick to drag the kid inside cart, uncomfortably placing him on his side. It looks painful to be pressed against the metal wiring of the cart like that, but Tony’s not going to waste time in padding the area.

He pushes the cart towards the end of the lot where two employee only elevators stand. He presses the call button in the middle and the door to the left elevator opens instantly. He wheels the boy inside, places his ID card on the slot and tells the AI to take him to the third floor. The door closes and the shaft begins its ascent. Tony sighs. He looks down at the boy laying in the cart. He’s not bruised which is a good sign. His lack of abuse means he’s never been loaned before. Tony’s caught up in looking at his delicate back and shoulders when the door opens.

He pushes the cart out and rolls into the secured area. In front of him is a small corridor with no windows on either side. It’s only ten foot long and at the end is a large metal door. Only Tony is allowed in and the code changes periodically. He places his ID card which can only read his card as authorized. It blinks green and the door pushes itself open, thankfully it stays open long enough for Tony to wheel the cart in. It shuts behind him, a soft click can be heard as Tony glances around the new, smaller hallway.

The containment rooms are for the employees who were exposed to the harmful chemicals and minerals used in crafting Tony’s inventions. It’s not often used since over time Tony perfected his recipes and started finding ways to mask the radiating chemicals. When he first started working on his new line of home service AI, dozens of employees were sanctioned here everyday. The rare mineral he used, Vibranium, caused irritating to the skin when touching the metal parts of the AI’s exterior. If an employee came in contact with the raw mineral that hadn’t been soldered to the body plates, their skin would slowly begin to boil. One assembly line employee found out the hard way when he accidentally transported the raw mineral instead of the soldered ones. His left arm experienced second degree burns and he quit soon after.

Tony had to start chemically treating the pieces to avoid the press. He even paid the employee who suffered burns a hefty to sum to keep quiet about the situation. It was a close call to damnation but he avoided it. Tony looked down at the unconscious boy. Could he avoid damnation for this, too?

He looks at the narrow hallway full of safe locked rooms. There’s fourteen in total, six on the same side as the elevator and it’s corridor and eight on the side facing Tony. He pushes the cart to the left and unlocks the door at the end of the hallway. He pushes the boy in and lets it click behind him. It’s sterile and white in the room. It has one twin bed against the wall and an end table next to it. There’s a large mirror on the opposite side, below it is a toilet, sink and a shower in the far corner. It’s decent sized but empty. If this is really going to be the kid’s new home he’ll have to decorate it later. For now, all he has time to do is to carry the boy to the bed, wrapping him in the white sheets and pushing the cart out the door and back into the lot.

-

Tony heads back home to get dressed for work and eat breakfast with Pepper. They eat scrambled eggs and toast while the home service AI, his most expensive model, cleans the plates. Pepper smiles at him from across the table. She’s proud of him, and Tony knows it. Who else would she want to be with? Tony’s the smartest man in America, he makes AI so complex the military has written to him to create troop AI prototypes. She’s with the most famous engineer, of course she’s always pleased.

“You know, babe,” Pepper starts, “We should go out tonight. Been too long since we’ve had a date night.”

Tony smiles. She’s just as old as him but still gorgeous. She’s his rock and has been for years. She might just be known as the geniuses wife, but she’s no idiot. She’s smart and half of Tony’s ideas come from her creative mind. Tony would drop everything to take her out tonight, but he can’t. He has the boy who still hasn’t woken up and he’ll need to be watched. He shakes his head and she smile droops.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll be out all night tonight at the lab. Working on something new for the tech season,” Tony says.

He wishes he could lie. It’s getting closer and closer to summer which means companies will push new phones, computers, identification systems, robots and more. Tony’s known for his widely advanced AI, walking and talking robots that can perform just about anything a human can do. He made them two years ago and now every other company is trying to emulate his model. So every summer is a race to see who can churn out the best tech that can beat Tony’s.

“I can’t be mad at my little inventor. You’ve got to revolutionize the world or something, I suppose,” Pepper laughs.

Tony can’t help but smirk. She’s the only person on Earth who could call him their ‘little inventor’ and not get punched in the face. She smiles and sips her coffee as Tony pulls out his companies latest line of tablets. The small device turns into a ten inch screen tablet with the press of a button. He flicks his finger across the screen to check on the tower’s cameras. He swipes until he gets to the third floor cameras.

**CONTAINMENT ROOM 4**

**STATUS: OCCUPIED**

**LIGHTS: ON**

**HEATING + COOLING SYSTEM: ON**

**QUARANTINE IN EFFECT: UNKNOWN**

_Shit._ How long has this been public? Tony completely forgot about the cameras and sensors. If his security were to switch the third floor cameras, they’d see a boy sleeping in a containment room. He suddenly stands up, pushing himself away from the table.

“Tony?” Asks Pepper.

Tony’s already walking out of the kitchen and into the foyer to grab his jacket. How could he have forgotten to turn off the cameras? Anyone on his security could switch to the third floor right now and see one of the rooms are occupied. Tony opens the door, calling out his goodbye to Pepper. He runs to his car, hoping in and drives to the tower.

How many times has he carelessly sped across New York just today alone? It’s getting close to seven now. That kid’s going to wake up soon. And when he does, he’s going to freak the hell out. The security team will hear him and they’ll switch to the camera in the room and _fuck._ Tony steps on the gas and flies through a red light. He’ll worry about the ticket later. Right now he has to get to the tower and disable those fucking sensors.

Within fifteen minutes, he’s pulling into the tower parking for the second time in the last few hours. He takes up his reserved parking and runs across the lot to stand in the elevator.

“First floor,” he tells the AI.

The elevator brings him upstairs, and he thanks God that no one else is waiting for it. He quickly walks through the early bird employees, some shocked to see Tony arriving before his shift. Tony’s chronically late because who’s going to tell him he can’t miss a few hours when he owns the company anyways? He bypasses the front office workers and knocks twice on the security unit’s door. He waits for a moment but there’s no answer. He pulls out his ID card and scans it along the side of the door. The door clicks open and he’s greeted with an empty, dark room. No one on the security team has showed up yet. He’d be pissed if he wasn’t grateful.

Tony rushes to the nearest computer and types his login. Once it’s loaded, he’s met with his company’s logo on an empty home screen. He presses control twice and the security rig instantly plays in front of him. He can see more employees start to roll in out front. He switch cameras to the third floor and types in the number four. The kid’s still laying on the bed, but his body is tossing. He’s still asleep but no longer unconscious. Tony scrolls to the side of the feed and presses disable all. He watches as the third floor cameras go black and the sensors warn him they’ve lost power. He disables the third floor alert system, sensors, and notifications. Now his team won’t see anything from the third floor. They’ll found out later today for sure, but Tony will tell them there’s renovation being done since that wing is no longer in use anyway.

He sighs as he leaves the security room. No one’s waiting for him outside the door. He walks to the first floor break room that’s slowly beginning to fill with interns and front office employees. These workers handle customer service and reviews. There’s only forty customer service representatives and a few college interns in communications. Not many people have bad things to say about Stark Industries. If anything, these people deal with people screaming at them to put them through to the repairs and refunds unit on floor six.

Tony walks to the end of the room to grab a glazed donut, a fun sized bag of doritos, and a lukewarm box of apple juice. A few people stare at him as he places the food on a paper plate. Tony can’t blame them, they hardly see him since he works on the top floor. He smiles as two customer service workers gawk at him from the table next to the food. He’s out of the break room within a minute. He makes his way to the elevator in the front of the building and stands awkwardly with another employee.

The guy is older, a bit pudgy at the waist. He’s wearing a blue button down with his name on a tag to the left above his shirt pocket. ‘Julius’.

Julius sniffs and says to the AI, “Second floor.”

Tony nods at the man who nods back. He works in maintenance, a tough job Tony respects. He works on the parts of the tech; soldering, soddening, and wiring them. It’s tough work, Tony would know. Once the elevator reaches the second floor, Tony waves at the man who walks out earnestly onto the working floor also full of men in blue button downs. Tony tells the AI to head to the third floor.

As the doors close, Tony remembers when he had to switch the maintenance and the customer service floors. Maintenance was the first floor with customer service on top. Customer service complained about the rising heat from the workers below them. To stop the whining, Tony switch them. The maintenance workers didn’t seem to care and it made the whiny customer care representatives happy. He walks out when the door opens to the barren corridor of the third floor. He pushes his ID card against the scanner and walks to the left of the second hallway.

He opens to the door to the fourth room and is about to place the food down on the end table when a pillow collides with his face. He stumbles back, the pillow hits the ground and he sees the boy, now clearly awake, on his knees on the bed, looking like he’s ready to fight him. Tony wants to laugh, but the kid’s terrified and trying to cover himself with the sheets. He slowly regains himself and points to the discarded pillow on the ground.

“A pillow is your only defense?” Tony quips.

The kid wastes no time in defending himself, “It’s the only thing that’s not bolted down.”

Tony nods, the kid’s right after all. All of the furniture is bolted down and it’s not like he had anything else to throw. He’s about to start by putting the fucker in his place, but the kid gasps and reaches out a hand.

“M-M-Mr. Stark?”

That’s when Tony realizes that the kid must recognize him. He even referred to him as ‘Mr. Stark’ with a short hint of admiration in his eyes. Is he a fan? What are the odds that the boy he bought is one of admirers. It’s cute, but he should tear that down right now. He’s not a good guy, not in this kid’s eyes. He turns to face him completely.

“What’s your name?” Tony simply asks.

The kid looks at him silently, his face twisting in confusion, fear, and tiredness. He furrows his brows and it looks like he’s about to string it all together, that it’s Tony Stark who brought him here and that he’s not the man he appears to be. But Tony starts to wonder what might happen if he were to have fun with the kid. It’s not like he has anyone else to talk to, and this is his first time actually owning someone. He reaches out to touch his bare shoulder and gives him the same cookie cutter smile he gives to the press.

“I’ll need your name so I can tell the police. I have to look for your family,” Tony assures.

The boy looks up and smiles at him. Tony notices his look of hope and reassurance. He thinks he’s being saved. It’s too sweet.

“I’m Peter Parker, sir. I-I … How did you find me? Where are we?”

Tony smiles. His heart beats and damn this kid is too cute. He doesn’t usually talk to the the kids unless he’s tired of fucking and has more time left. But they usually scream and thrash so Tony ends the session abruptly. But now he has a chance to fuck with his kid. He’s not in any rush to fuck him or really do anything to him. He’s his now and that fact still doesn’t quite sit right on his mind. He sits down on the bed besides the boy who’s looking at him with such hope that Tony wants to wash it all away. It’s sick and twisted but he doesn’t care.

“Someone was loading you into their car last night. I intervened. I couldn’t take you to the police because I was worried he’d follow us. So you’re in the Stark Industries tower in Midtown. Where are you from?”

Peter nods and listens intently. He buys into the story and moves to cover himself with the blanket more.

“Queens. With my aunt. She’s probably worried sick, Mr. Stark. Thank you for helping me, but I have to get home. I don’t even know how long I’ve … been away,” Peter finishes.

Tony watches as he curls in on himself and winces when he talks about his abduction. How did it happen? Did the black man from the warehouse take him or did someone sell Peter to him? Who else has gotten to see him so vulnerable like this? He wants to questions him further but he knows that would lead to a mental break that Tony isn’t prepared for. He instead smiles and tries to give off his most sympathetic look

“I’ll go find your aunt. But please just stay here for now. I’m going to go find you some clothes. In the meantime, please help yourself to those snacks. I’ll be back with some real food later,” Tony says as he stands up.

The boy stares as Tony walks away, locking the door behind him. He can’t pounce on him just yet, not when he’s so open to him. He must be the kid’s hero. It was beyond sweet to see Peter go from defensive to trusting in seconds. Just the thought of the one and only Tony Stark, world renowned scientist, saving him made him soft. He’s going to be easy to manipulate and Tony can’t wait to see him when he’s like that in bed. So defensive, ready to strike, and then calm and sweet and trusting. Tony walks out of the third floor and into the elevator, ready to start his actual job.

-

“Fuck me,” Tony sighs.

It’s already three in the afternoon and nothing he’s tried has worked. He’s trying to program a new feature on his newest models of AI systems. He’s trying to make a program that can tell the probability of a situation, using it’s prior knowledge. His AIs are well known for their memory capacity but he wants to use that memory to help the owners out in the future. If a family experiences a break in, the AI can tell them likelihood of it happening again given the information it collected from the first one. If only it was working. So far he’s gotten two responses from the AIs, one was a firm ‘I don’t know, sir’ and the other was ‘I can’t compute. I am beginning to feel overworked.’

He ended the session there and stood up from the stool in his personal office. The top floor was his private space to create and invent new tech. Tony works better without other people in the way. People are always asking questions about his new designs. He’d rather be alone when inventing, it helps him think. He pulls out the small, compressed tablet and expands it. He slides to the camera system he’s left on for himself on the third floor. Only his end of the camera system can see into the third floor now that he’s disabled the tower’s view.

Peter’s laying in bed. Tony came in at around eleven with food and told him the police had contacted his aunt and were waiting for a response. At twelve, Tony came in to give him clothes, which was an old, faded band shirt of Tony’s from when he was in his twenties and the pants were dark blue sweatpants with a stretched waistband. Peter didn’t seemed to mind though. He pulled the clothes on as soon as Tony gave them to him. Tony made a mental note to buy him some decent clothing later.

The teen is laying on the bed, face up. He looks bored and worried. He’s been in there for four hours without any entertainment. Tony think for a moment about going down there to lie to him some more. But if he keeps barging in, the kid might suspect something. So he goes back to working on the program for a bit. A ringing on his tablet startles him. He clicks the notification and sees it’s a request to be let in the upper floor by Dr. Armond. Tony hits accept on the request.

Dr. Armond, a short withering man, walks into Tony’s lab. He gives off his best smile as Tony wraps his arms around his coworker. Dr. Armond is Stark Industries head designer, him and Tony have created wonderful things together with his creative thinking. Tony ushers him to a seat next to the counter where his work is laid about. The AI system he affectionately calls FRIDAY staunters over to greet Dr. Armond.

“Good afternoon, Tony. I see you’re working on the probability system,” Dr. Armond notes.

Tony nods his head and gestures towards the AI parts surrounding him on the counter. FRIDAY shakes hands with Dr. Armond and returns to her typical place behind Tony. Tony takes a seat next to the doctor and begins explaining his troubles.

“Yes, and poor FRIDAY has been my guinea pig for the most of it. Poor thing can’t seem to wrap it around her head and I can’t seem to program it correctly. This is much more difficult than I thought,” admits Tony.

Dr. Armond nods and stares at the pieces on the table. He reaches out for a small piece of the inner workings of an AI brain that he designed. He grabs the limbic system, a small cluster of brain functions that make up the memory storage system of a human brain. Armond designed it himself when they created the first AI two years ago.

“I’d love to help. I can’t imagine this being very easy, especially alone.”

Tony doesn’t want help but Armond is his friend and he admittedly feels dumb around the older gentlemen. His years of experience and knowledge make him feel far superior to Tony. So Tony nods and the two get to working on the AI again.

After several hours, Armond calls over FRIDAY one last time to attempt to reconcile the program. FRIDAY looks at the men, her blue hued Vibranium frame moving along with her.

“FRIDAY, remember all of the time we’ve had a security alert at the tower?” Tony asks.

FRIDAY affirms, “Of course, sir.”

“How many times have there been security breaches since your arrival here, FRIDAY?”

“There have been thirty six security breaches at Stark Industries Tower. Sixteen attempted robberies, eleven assaults, four hacking breaches, and seven false police reportings,” says FRIDAY.

“Based on previous findings, what is the possibility of a security breach happening by the end of the day?” Asks Armond.

Tony can swear he hears FRIDAY’s gear turning in her head even though he designed special silencers inside all of his AI lines. She looks in front of herself and speaks.

“According to previous findings, there is a low likelihood of a security breach from now until the end of the work day. There is exactly a one point twenty six percent chance that of any criminal activity will happen at the tower.”

Dr. Armond and Tony looks at each other and smile, their hard work had paid off. After hours of reprogramming FRIDAY’s limbic system, hippocampus, amygdala, and cingulate gyrus she can successfully tell probability given previous events. Armond stands up and shakes FRIDAY’s hand once again.

“It’s so nice to be able to work alongside you again, Tony. If only you weren’t so stubborn. We might actually get things done around here more often,” jokes Armond.

Tony smiles and turns away to hide his embarrassment. Yeah, sure. He doesn’t like taking help from people even if he really needs it. But at least things get done. Even if it does take him a while. He thanks Armond again who’s already on his way out the door. Tony settles back down to admire his hard work. Armond turns around to look back at Tony before he heads out.

“And don’t forget to spend some time with the missus. You’ve already missed dinner, I bet,” Armond calls out.

Tony pulls his sleeve up and catches the time, it’s 7:49. _Shit._ Peter’s been in the room for nearly nine hours alone. Tony quickly stands up, turning off FRIDAY and walking out of the corridor and into the elevator. He tells the AI to go to the third floor. His heart pumps in his chest. He hasn’t even checked the cameras this entire time. When the doors open, he’s quick to scan his card and run down the hallway until he reaches room four. He pulls the door open and is immediately being pummeled.

He looks down to see Peter, tears streaking down his face with his fists crashing against Tony’s broad chest. He repeatedly beats him with his clenched, tiny fists. Tony has to push him into the room in order to close the door behind him. Peter doesn’t stop. He slams into Tony, doing little damage. He tries again and again to knock the older man down but can’t. Tony takes the boy’s shaking hands and holds them tightly.

“You lied! You’re not getting my aunt, you’re not telling the police! I’ve been here for hours! Let me go!” Peter screams.

Tony holds him back from attacking him again. There’s not much else to do but force him onto the bed so he can at least get a word out. Tony heaves the small boy onto the bed, holding his wrists while sitting besides him. He can’t even begin to talk to him because Peter’s right back to crying and screaming.

“Fuck you! Don’t touch me! I wanna go home, let go!”

He tries retching his hands back from Tony but he’s too strong. Tony rolls his eyes, as if his day wasn’t already stressful enough. He hasn’t even slept yet, he’s still running off of yesterday’s sleep. Peter’s face has changed from anger to sadness and defeat. He slumps against Tony’s grasp and cries.

“Please, Mr. Stark. I just wanna go home. Please,” Peter cries.

He keeps repeating ‘please’ over and over again. Tony’s dick throbs and it’s so hard to not look at this get and get aroused. He hisses the word repeatedly and in Tony’s twisted mind, he’s beginning to sound like he’s begging for him. He can’t take the urge anymore. He’s done playing games with this kid. He pushes the teen against the bed, his grip on his wrists turning into pressure on his shoulders. He places both of his legs around Peter, effectively trapping him underneath. He looks gorgeous when he’s vulnerable like this.

Tony sweeps down and in one fluid motion, he’s leaning down to take the boy into a kiss. His mouth is met with a disgusted cry and a sudden jerking. He moves his hands away from Peter’s shoulders to wrap around his head, cradling it and forcing him to accept the kiss. He pushes his lips forcefully against Peter’s mouth, trying to part the way with his tongue. His tongue slips ina and begins exploring the metal filled mouth. The braces turn Tony on in a way. It makes the boy appear younger and innocent. It’s yet another reason for his incredibly overwhelming arousal for the young boy. Tony tries to go in further but reels back in pain. The fucker bit his tongue, and he bit it hard.

When he pulls back, he can see the hate seeping through Peter. His eyes are swelling and his cheeks are flustered from being pressed against Tony’s. He grips a handful of the boy’s soft, brown locks and retches him upwards. Peter gives out a mangled cry as his head is rocked above the bed and shoved into Tony’s face.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking try that shit again,” Tony growls.

Peter persits, he brings his hands up to punch Tony square in the jaw. The older man is stunned at the sudden and painful impact. Both fists against his face felt like he was punched by a man. He’s quick to push Peter back down however, using his hands to wrap around the boys throat. He squeezes until Peter’s clawing at Tony’s face, a silent beg for release. Tony smiles as the boy’s face goes from a flustered pink to a deprived blue. He lets go after a moment, the boy’s gasps and struggles for air are immediate. Because he’s put up more of a fight than Tony expected, he punches the child in the gut, his breathing hitching again. He heaves and struggles as air is pushed out of him again.

When Peter’s breath returns back to normal, he lays flaccid on the bed, his face turned away from Tony. Tony smiles at the tired boy beneath him. He moves his legs to lay next to the boy, pressing himself into the younger’s back. Tony can sense Peter’s disgust as he presses his legs against him, knowing Peter can feel his erect member. Tony brings his arms up to wrap around the boy. Peter can only give out a meek ‘no’ as Tony pulls him in. He presses his lips against his back, kissing his exposed skin. Peter shutters beneath him.

“Sorry I had to lie you, sweetheart,” Tony mummers into the teen’s back, “But you looked so happy to see me. I’m sure you weren’t expecting to see Tony Stark rescue you from God knows what. That man could’ve sold you to anyone. You should be grateful I bought you before anyone else could.”

Tony’s dick throbs against Peter’s back when the child shutters against him again. He can hear his faint cries and his sniffling. He brings the hands that are wrapped him to slowly play with the old waistband of his sweatpants. Peter jerks at the touch but Tony forces him to be still. He runs his lips across the boy’s back and plants kisses along it. Peter’s downright sobbing by the time his hands are fully in his pants, lightly traveling down the child’s stomach.

“P-please, I-I-I don’t want-t-t. Mr. St-Stark, please don’t,” Pete cries earnestly.

Tony continues to run his hands down Peter’s pants. He stops when he reaches the base of his dick. He brings the other hand around to slide down the back of his sweatpants. He gently grabs the base of his cock, fingering the skin at the top lightly. Peter begins shaking head and breathing heavy as Tony’s hand glides across his firm ass.

“I know you haven’t been fucked before. You’re old enough to touch yourself, but I bet you’ve never practiced down here,” Tony says.

His hand on the child’s ass slides in between his cheeks and his index finger finds the boy’s tightly wound hole. Peter thrashes against Tony, but a firm tug on the boy’s middle stops him.

“Listen, Peter. We’re gonna play a game, yeah? I just wanna see how long you last,” Tony breaks the sentence to plant another kiss at the base of the boy’s neck, “It’ll be fun.”

“Y-you said you’d fi-find my aunt. I wanna g-go home. I won’t te-tell anyone,” Peter begs.

Tony ignores the boy’s pleas and slowly begins jerking his small cock. Peter brings his hands up to cup his face, the heat from his breathing travels back to Tony’s face, making him warm. Tony slowly starts to push in the digit lined up against the boy’s hole. Peter whimpers as Tony’s pace quickens and the finger is inserted up to the first knuckle. Tony knows he can only go so far with the boy without hurting him. He’s not even using any lube for his unprepared hole. Peter cries when Tony tugs harder on his member, now finally becoming hard.

Tony leans his body over to press more kisses against the child’s neck and back. He pulls his finger back and then pushes it in again, going to the end of the digit. Peter shouts as the finger curls inside of him. Tony starts pumping him faster, now humping the back of Peter’s leg to relieve himself. It’s not much longer until Peter’s cumming, his small dick spurting liquid all over Tony’s sweatpants. Tony can’t hold back much longer before cumming in his pants against the back of Peter’s leg.

He stands up to assess the damage he’s made to his clothing and sighs. He’ll have to deal with cum in his pants until he gets home. He looks down at the boy, now silently sobbing into the pillow beneath him. Tony cards his fingers through the younger’s hair, but he’s met with a violent shaking fit from Peter. He curls in on himself, bringing his knees to his head and wrapping his arms around them.

“The shower works if you want to clean off. There’s rags for your pants. I’ll come back with more clothes soon,” Tony says as he straightens his shirt.

His work uniform is distress, he’ll have to start bringing his own clothing here as well for him to wear when events like this happen. He finishes fixes himself and looks back at the broken, crying boy.

“You’re probably hungry, right? Anything in particular you wa -”

He’s interrupted by a terrible screeching noise coming for the boy.

“Aaaah! Stop talking! Shut up, shut up, shut up. Leave me alone! I don’t care about food, just go away!” He violently sobs.

Tony nods. He should have expected that. He sighs and open the door to the room, securing it behind him. He walks out of the building and into his car, making a mental note to come back early tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was ... Pretty fucked up. You guys absolutely loved the first part of this so I thought I should continue. I wouldn't be surprised if you guys told me to stop with this one. It's very dark and gross and just, yeah. Anyways, please let me know what you think of this so far. And of course don't forget to leave suggestions and all that jazz.


	6. Red Room Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is paranoid with the possibiliy of the Raven catching him the day after he views the red room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Graphic Violence
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The usernames used in this fiction are from actual chat logs of child predators found on the dark web.

‘Peter Parker, you’re next.’ That’s all that’s been in Peter’s mind since last night. The second the ominous text popped up, his computer screen went blank and it restored itself back to his home screen. He sat in the dark, waiting for something to happen but nothing did. His home screen, a picture of him and Ned flexing besides the base of a statue in Central Park, shined on his tear stained face. After a few minutes, Peter calmed down. He ran his virus scanner six times, every time resulted in zero viruses found. He turned off the computer and wrapped himself in his sheets. He couldn’t sleep. He stared straight up at his ceiling, shivering every time the light outside his window moved. Just when he felt the pull of sleep creeping up on him, his alarm clock went off.

Peter got up and dragged himself to the bus stop. He sat in the back of the bus, his backpack was used as a makeshift pillow as he tried to get some sleep. It wasn’t long before the bus came to a sudden stop, sending Peter face first into the seat in front of him. The mechanical whirring sound of the bus doors opening made him and the other students sag out of the bus. Peter walked the walls with extreme caution. Everywhere he turned he could swear he saw the same masked figure, stalking him, watching him,  _ hunting _ him. 

“Are you okay, Peter? You’ve been acting weird,” Ned says while Peter is shoving his binder into his bookbag for the next class.

Peter shakes his head and leans forward to rest his head in his hands. He can’t tell Ned that he’s probably going to be killed by some guy on the internet. He’d laugh at him, tell him the guy was just playing a joke. Even the graphic details of that poor girl that was murdered might sound like it’s straight from a movie. Peter finishes putting his things bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“It’s nothing. I just didn’t get any sleep last night,” Peter affirms.

It’s hard lying to Ned, but he’d be safer if he didn’t know. The two walk together to their next class; Spanish. Peter tries not to look obvious as he looks down the corridors of his school, waiting for the Raven to attack. Half way through Spanish, Ned taps on his shoulder. Peter looks besides him to see Ned giving him a worried look. 

“Let’s have a sleep over at my place tonight. I got the new Battlefield game.”

Peter sighs, “Maybe. I’ll text you later.”

They go back to work as the spanish teacher points at root words on the board. Peter tries not to fall asleep but he can’t help it. His head tilts forward and curls his arms up to lay his head down. Ned doesn’t say anything but Peter can feel his concerned eyes on the back of his head. 

There’s words everywhere. They fly past on a series screens, some are too fast and others are in different languages. Peter’s seen these before. It’s the chat from last night. He recognizes the usernames, the layout, the counter at the top. He knows he’s dreaming but he swore that his health teacher told him you couldn’t read in your sleep. Something about the brain not recognizing letters while unconscious. Peter read hundreds of comments going by the dozens of screens in front of him.

**_Bleu0kamaze:_ ** **how could you be so stupid, Peter?**

**_Axar556:_ ** **You’re going to be beautiful when he kills you**

**_Louisianamaster1973:_ ** **Absolutely gorgeous boy. I hear The Raven likes boys better anyway. I’m sure he’ll treat you the way you should be: Beaten and raped with no mercy.**

**_Zigdog2k3:_** **ik wil kijken hoe hij je ogen uitknipt en je lege oogkassen verkracht**

**_Qxaboi19:_ ** **Your death is gonna be hott hott. Cant wait to see you bleed.**

**_The_Raven:_ ** **I’m going to end you, Peter Parker.**

“Help me!’ Peter screamed.

Peter looked next to him to see Ned and the rest of his peers look at him with vague looks of concern and horror. Peter quickly picked himself up and looked around the dead silent room. His spanish teacher stared at him and started walking over to him. She tried to smile and place her hand gently on his shoulder. Peter screamed at the sudden touch and pushed her aside. A few students gasped and Ned stood up to help his friend. 

“Peter…?” Ned tried.

Peter ran as fast as he could. He had to get out of here. The Raven could be watching him right now. Peter’s heart pumped as he ran down the hallways. Teachers and students standing idly watched as Peter frantically sprinted throughout the school. He looked back. Was he watching him make a fool of himself now? Did he know this would happen? Did he found out what school he went to, and then stalked him, and now he’s laughing at him for being afraid? In the middle of Peter’s thoughts, his body collides with something. He stumbles back to see an older man doubled over from the impact. Peter stepped forward as the man straightened himself and looked back at Peter. It was Mr. Stark, the A through M guidance counselor. 

“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark, I was … I didn’t see you there,” Peter said.

Peter couldn’t hide his embarrassment. He had just literally ran into a teacher because he was having a panic attack over some guy on the internet. Mr. Stark smiled and shook his head.

“It’s alright, Mr. Parker. But is everything okay? You look pale and to be honest, I’ve never seen you run through the halls like that before.”

Peter looked down. He didn’t want to talk about the dark web or The Raven or the red room or that poor girl. He shook his head and turned away, about to walk back to class or hide in the bathroom until it ended. But Mr. Stark wasn’t taking no for an answer. He moved besides Peter and leaned down to meet his gaze. 

“Peter, it’s alright to talk to me about it. I know I’m not your guidance counselor, but this is apart of the job description. I’m free now if you want to talk about anything,” Mr. Stark assured. 

Peter looked at Mr. Stark, the gentle older man whose gaze made him feel warm. He was always nice to him and once Peter had to sit in his office while he waited for May to pick him up because he had gotten sick in the bathroom. And plus, it’s not like Peter can go back to class. Everyone will be talking about him and he’s sure Ned’s texted him a dozen times by now. He slowly nodded at Mr.Stark’s offer and followed the man down the hall and into his open office. 

“Kinda crazy the way you hit me. I was just coming out of my office to borrow Mr. Spencer’s stapler. Here, Peter, take a seat,” said Mr. Stark as he crossed the small office.

Peter nodded and took a seat on the small red couch adjacent to Mr. Stark’s desk chair. He spun around to face the troubled teen and smiled wide. Peter tried to meet his enthusiasm but failed, instead returning to his resting face of shock and paranoia.

“So, Peter. Tell me what you were running from,” Mr. Stark started.

Peter crossed his arms across his chest and hugged it close to him. He didn’t want to talk about anything from last night. And if he did, he’s sure Mr. Stark would tell him not to be afraid of men over the internet. He leaned back on the couch and shrugged like it wasn’t eating away at him.

“I just … I dunno. Been paranoid lately,” Peter said.

Mr. Stark nodded and seemed like he was actually listening to what Peter had to say. He even placed a finger to his chin and taped it twice before resuming the conversation.

“Paranoia is really a stress reaction. What’s going on that’s stressing you out? What do you think you’re running from?” 

Peter swallowed, “I just feel like … You’re going to call me crazy, Mr. Stark. But I swear I’m being followed. I feel like someone is watching me, watching my every move, waiting for me to mess up. I can’t deal with it. I want to run.”

“Well, that’s certainly a deeply troubling feeling. What could cause this? Who do you think is watching you?” Mr. Stark questioned.

Peter started shaking his head. This whole conversation is stupid, he feels bad just wasting Mr. Stark’s time like this. He puts his hands over his head and rubs at his temples. Mr. Stark is right, this all has to be an underlying cause of stress. Sure what he saw last night was terrible and what those people found out about him was worrying, but they’re just creeps over the internet. They don’t really want to hurt him, they just wanted to scare him and it’s working. Maybe he’s stressed about school and it’s all weighing down on him. The red room was just a trigger for the paranoia.

“I can’t really talk about it. But … I feel like someone is watching me because I know something about them that they didn’t want me to know. Now they’re trying to get back at me.”

Mr. Stark responded, “What do you know, Peter? Is it criminal? Do you feel threatened by this person in any type of way?”

Peter moved forward, suddenly aware of his situation. What if The Raven really is after him? What if he’s watching him right now talk to Mr. Stark? If Peter tells him anything, he could be targeted, too. He doesn’t want to see him end up in a red room, either. He starts to shake his head. 

“No,” Peter began, “Mr. Stark, I really can’t talk about this anymore. It’s not a big deal, I promise. I think stress about school is getting to me.”

Mr. Stark leaned back in his desk chair, his face looking a little defeated. He nodded after a moment and looked back at Peter. 

“You have your right to privacy, Mr. Parker. But I’m suggesting you go home early today. I’ll call the office and have them call your family. Is there someone who can take you out right away?”

Peter smiled at the man. Thank God Mr. Stark understands his wants. He nodded.

“Yes, my aunt. She’s at work but she can come get me,” Peter said.

Mr. Stark smiled warmly and pulled out a small pad of class passes. He scribbled something on the top and ripped it off, handing it to Peter for him to take. Peter grabbed the pass and read the sloppily written writing. 

“It’s a pass to go back to class to get your things and then to go to the office. I’ll call them now and tell them to call your aunt,” Mr. Stark said.

Peter nodded and turned to walk out of the office, happy to be out of school but worried to be going back home. The Raven had to know where he lived by now. He gulped and tried to leave but before he could, Mr. Stark called out to him.

“Peter, everything’s going to be alright. Just take deep breaths. I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”

Peter left the room with only a meek smile in return and nothing more.

-

Peter’s waiting in the office with his backpack seated in front of him when the front receptionist calls his name. 

“Parker? Your aunt is here to pick you up.”

Peter slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked to meet Aunt May who’s standing by the door with a worried expression on her face. She rushes over when she sees him walking towards her and encases him in a giant hug. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? I was called by the office, they told me you had an outburst and needed to be sent home. Is everything alright?” May asked.

Peter looked around them. He shook his head and looked away. He didn’t want to talk about this at all, especially not in front of these nosey front office workers. He leaned away from his aunt’s tight embrace.

“We’ll talk later, May. Let’s go home?” He half begged.

May sighs and adjusts the purse loosely hanging on her shoulder as she backs away from her nephew. The two walk to the car and drive home in silence, Peter staring out the window and refusing to meet May’s gaze. When they get home, Peter goes to his room to hopefully catch up on sleep. He locks his door and looks over at the blank monitor. He huffs and throws his backpack on the desk chair, trying to forget last night and this entire school day ever happened.

_

Peter lifts his head up to find himself in complete darkness. There’s a loud pounding from across the room and he instantly jolts up. He’s sure the Raven has him and he’s about to be dismembered and killed like that girl so he screams. He covers his head with his hands and screams until he thinks his eardrums are about to explode.

“Peter! Please oh God, my baby. Are you okay? Open the door!” A woman screams from outside the door.

Peter stops because the darkness isn’t so dark after all and the pounding isn’t someone coming for him. He shakily gets out of bed and unlocks his bedroom door. Before he can even turn his light on, May barges in and smothers the boy in a hug so tight Peter feels like he’ll faint.

“What the hell is going on? I’ve been knocking on your door for twenty minutes, worried sick because you  _ never  _ lock your door and it’s already dark out and I hadn’t heard from you all day and then you started screaming and I - “ May stops to calm herself, seemingly in the middle of a panic attack of her own, “Peter, what happened?”

He doesn’t know how to tell his aunt that he feels like he’ll be killed at any moment so he just stares at her. What can he say in this situation? He starts to stammer a response before May stops him.

“Wait, I know what’s going on.”

“You do?” Peter asks, half terrified she found out about the tor download on his computer and half relieved she might be able to help.

May releases her nephew and sighs. “You’re having night terrors again. Crap, I’ll have to call Dr. Donahue and ask him about refilling your old Trazodone prescription.”

Peter’s thankful he doesn’t have to explain his real terror to his aunt but now she thinks he’s having those nightmares again. The year after Uncle Ben died, Peter had recurring night terrors about something he couldn’t remember. All he knew was he’d go to sleep and wake up hours later crying, screaming for help with a wet bed. After taking the pills for a while, he was fine. He stopped having night terrors years ago and he knows he isn’t having them now but if that’s what it’ll take for May to not question him then so be it.

“Yeah, uh. Maybe I am, May,” Peter said as his aunt combed her fingers through his hair.

“Jesus, Pete. I was trying to come in to tell you that Ned called and asked if you’d like to spend the night but now that your night terrors are back, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”

Peter has to go to Ned’s tonight. The Raven might know where he lives, but he certainly doesn’t know where Ned does. This could be an easy escape. If there really is someone out to get him, he’d be safer away from home, right?

Peter shakes his head. “Wait! May I’ll be fine, really. Plus it’s the weekend we’ll be staying up all night anyway. Please let me go?”

“Peter,” May sighs.

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have scared you like that. I’m really sorry. But I’ve had a really stressful day and Ned offered this morning and I said I’d go, so can I? Please?”

May gives the boy another hug and finally nods. “Fine. But we’re having dinner tomorrow at four. Ned’s welcome to join but you have to be home tomorrow night. Hopefully I’ll already have your prescription filled by then.”

Peter smiles and holds his aunt back for a quick hug. “Thank you, May! I’ll be back tomorrow. Promise.”

May smiles as she walks down the hall and into her room. Peter quickly packs a change of clothes and shoves it into his backpack. He checks the time on his phone and sees it’s already eight at night. He texts Ned to make sure the offer still stands before heading out. He gets an affirmative text containing three smiley face emojis and he knows he’s in the clear. 

-

Ned’s house is only a fifteen minute walk from Peter’s. He’s done this hundreds of times in even later hours of the night, so why is he so scared? Every car that passes by makes Peter jump. Every sound he hears turn into footsteps. Every person he sees turn into dark shadows. He knows he shouldn’t be freaking out. No one’s actually going after him. What he saw on that livestream was real, but those people don’t want some random kid like him. They’re maniacs on the internet who like scaring people shitless. And Peter’s sure they know they’ve scared him by now. The Raven is probably in his lair right now, laughing at the memory of the boy he threatened. 

Peter makes a left, inching closer to Ned’s house now by another quarter mile. Queens feels so dead tonight. It’s doing nothing to help calm his nerves. The lack of people around make it seem deserted for a reason. Like everyone is hiding from the Raven because they know he’s out to get Peter. It feels like anyone could jump out and grab him. Peter breathes out, trying to calm himself. Listening to music usually makes the trip sorter and at least he’ll have something to listen to other than the alarming noises of the city. Peter reaches in his bag to take out his earbuds and begins walking to Ned’s with a soundtrack. 

Peter lets any song play as he turns another corner and walks down the dark streets of Queens. A loud add begins to play and turns down the volume from his phone. Peter’s paranoid, sure. But he definitely just heard footsteps behind him. He keeps the volume down even as the add ends and another song begins. He walks a few more steps and stops, he hears the footsteps behind him stop only a second after he does. Without looking behind him, without thinking of all the possibilities, without another thought: He runs.

Peter dashes down the street, looking on both sides of an exit. He can’t hear anything behind him anymore and maybe he really is crazy but he doesn’t care. He just needs to hide or leave or do something before whatever he thinks is about to catch him does. As he runs down the vacant Queens street, he sees a figure. The figure he’s been dreading. A dark shadow stands below a streetlight, it’s front facing Peter but he can’t see it’s face. He closes his eyes and makes a hard right into an alley dividing the two blocks.

He lets the air fill inside his lungs as he leans against a building, his body sweating and shaking. Peter searches for something in his bag to defend himself with and only comes up with his history textbook. It’s not much for a weapon, but at least he’ll see the assailant coming and have something to smash against his head. Peter grips the book like it’s a life preserver and waits for the dark figure to reappear. 

Peter’s heavy breathing won’t stop. He feels like he’s going to have an asthma attack. He straightens his back and tightens his grip on the book. Just as he’s about to inch closer to the alley’s exit to get a look at the figure, something pricks his neck from behind.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Peter tries reaching for his wound but whatever was jabbed in there is gone. He stumbles forward, the book flying across the ground. His head feels like it’s swimming in something thick. Like his consciousness is being jumbled around in slow motion and everything he tries to say or do isn’t fast enough. Both of his hands fly up to try to catch his body from hitting the alley ground too hard, but they fail and he hits the asphalt. He hears someone behind him but can’t make out what they’re saying. He tries calling out but all that comes out is a broken cry far too quiet for anyone near to hear. Just as he feels the weight of sleep pulling him, he sees the figure from before move to the right. The light from the streetlight gleams across an old man’s face as he smokes a cigar, oblivious to Peter.

_

The musk is the first thing Peter notices as he stirs himself awake.The air is moist and his nose is assaulted by the smell of rusted metal and stagnant water. His fly open when he realizes this isn’t a smell he’s used to. He’s met with dingy cement walls all around him and a darkness he’s all too familiar with. His arms and legs feel like weights and his head is still spinning from earlier. He can feel them being restrained by metal cuffs to the hard chair he’s sitting in. Facing him is a large and expensive looking camera on top of a tripod pointing at his body. Next to it lies several monitors, all displaying the same chat that’s been haunting Peter. He’s too far away to read them, but he can see dozens fly by every second. He hears a small chime to his left and he watches one monitor displaying what he assumes is bitcoin begin to stack up. There’s nothing left to do but scream.

Peter thrashes in the chair without any luck. It, too, is made of metal and feels like it’s been bolted to the floor. He screams as loud as he can, if he can’t reach anyone’s ears then at least he can drown out the constant chiming of the bitcoin monitor that’s been rapidly collecting money ever since he woke up. 

A hand wraps around his mouth and Peter’s too stunned to move. He’s too terrified to speak even as the man removes his hand and slowly begins walking around the chair. He watches as the masked man steps in front of him, blocking his view of the camera. It’s him. The Raven. Peter goes to scream again but is cut off by the Raven’s hand grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking on it. His scream turns into a meek cry and he helplessly looks up at the man who’s going to end his life. 

The Raven reaches into his back pocket with his unoccupied hand and clicks a button on a remote. Peter can see the camera turn off as the monitor displaying the image goes blank. The Raven leans directly in front of Peter and begins to slowly pull the fabric mask covering his face away. Once the mask is gone, Peter lets out an earnest sob as the Raven reveals himself to be Mr. Stark, the man who sheltered him only hours ago.

“M-M-Mister St-Stark? What’s going on, n-n-no. Wait. Wait! This can’t be real, this can-n-n-n’t be real! Pl-please God, no. Please,” Peter hyperventilates before the man.

“You know, in your student file it said you used to stutter back in middle school. Had to have a speech therapy class for two years. Hearing you stutter now is almost … fitting,” Tony devilishly grins at the sobbing boy.

Peter can only cry as a response. Tony pulls the mask back over his head and steps behind the chair. He turns the camera back on and the chat seems to roar back to life with the hope of breaking the uninvited guest from the previous night.

“You’re all probably wondering why I’m hosting a stream a night after the last. I have a very strict schedule, as you all know. But this,” Tony’s hand squeezes Peter’s shoulder, “ …  _ opportunity _ couldn’t wait.”

Peter hears Mr. Stark’s voice above him but knows the viewers will hear the garbled, distorted voice that proudly announced just last night that he was getting bored with murdering that girl. Peter’s eyes water and his body shakes knowing he’ll soon be just like her; brutally killed and raped on stream for sick people who endorse the man who’ll kill him. 

“I know you’re all eager to begin. So please, enjoy this early stream and let’s give a proper invitation to our uninvited guest.”

Peter can hear dozens of chimes ringing throughout the room as the hundreds of viewers send money, encouraging his death. Mr. Stark leans in close to his ear, his real voice more haunting than his distorted one could ever be.

“Oh, Peter. We’re just getting started with you.”

**Viewers: 367   Victim: 16M   Days left: 20**


	7. Father Figure Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is forced to attend a father figure group therapy where he's paired up with Pastor Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic requested by CaptiveInMyKiss.
> 
> WARNING:
> 
> Child abuse  
> Religious abuse

I can’t believe May would make me go to therapy again. As if the first therapist wasn’t already proof of my not needing one. She shoved the flyer in my face one morning before school. Colorful words spread across the sheet read, ‘Father Figure Therapy’. A type of therapy designed to bring in kids who don’t have fathers or have lost one. I promised her I would go, if only to appease her and end her consistent attempts at getting me to go back to therapy. Now I’m seated in a small lobby decorated with children’s toys and posters promoting healthy habits that include brushing your teeth everyday and washing your hands before every meal. A large crucifix hangs above the door leading to what I assume is the office.

A short, plump woman with dyed red hair and rosy cheeks enters the lobby and notices I’m the only person seated in the plastic chairs. She eyes me and she’s probably thinking I’m a homeless kid trespassing in a church’s children’s waiting area. She’s not a nun because she’s wearing mom jeans and open toed shoes. She’s probably a manager here or a clergymen’s wife. She walks towards me and leans down to meet my gaze. I hate when adults look down on me so I stand up. She keeps her smile while I return a calculated stare. 

“Hi sweetheart,” she says in a thick Jersey accent. “I’m Mrs. Mayfield. Are you here for the Father Figure meeting?”

Do I scream orphaned teen or something? I want to leave and tell her I’m just lost but I sheepishly nod. She only smiles back and I get the sudden urge to vomit. Churches smell like stale wafers and off-brand medicine. She’s messing with her fake hair, tucking it behind her ear when she begins to laugh. 

“You don’t need to wait out here for that, honey. You can just slide right on in the room once it starts. Here, I’ll show you where it’s at.”

She’s too jolly of a person to organize events at a church. Maybe they’re all like that though. You wouldn’t want a boring hag running things at an establishment of God. But I can’t see how having someone as upbeat as her would benefit them either. I follow her as she walks out of the children’s wing and into a dark hallway. I don’t go to church and this is probably the first time I’ve been to one since my baptism when I was an infant. 

My mom and dad were Christians, according to Aunt May. Uncle Ben used to be before the war, too. I don’t press her on it because she swears up and down that faith isn’t her forte. ‘Nothing good comes from faith, Peter,’ she told me. ‘Mary and Rick were total believers, and they died. Uncle Ben was a follower and he was shipped to Afghanistan, and … Well, you know the rest.’ 

Uncle Ben died in Afghanistan last year. Aunt May still doesn’t like to talk about it. She cried on Memorial Day and wouldn’t talk to me on his birthday last month. He died eight months ago and it still hurts her. Uncle Ben was my father figure in a lot of ways and I’d be lying if I said his death didn’t hurt me, too. So, it wasn’t surprising to see May force me into yet another therapy group, but it was surprising to see she sent me to a Christian led group. 

Mrs. Mayfield makes a left at the end of the hall and heads down a flight of dirty concrete steps. At the base of the staircase, there’s a red door with a cross at the top. She must tell I’m skeptical because she turns around before opening it.

“It’s not what it seems, trust me, baby. We’re just using the basement for group events until the second floor is renovated with air conditioning. Come on in, sweetheart,” she says as she holds the door open for me.

I walk through the door and I’m greeted with a few dozen men and children crowding a small basement with a blue, stained carpet. Some are seated in wooden chairs and others are forming small circles around the room. Most kids are at the pathetic looking buffet in the corner of the room. It’s damp and crowded and smells like church and I want to leave. I turn back to look at the door but the woman is already gone. I turn back and see an older man is walking towards me and I can tell in his self centered walk that he’s a church goer. He corners me and I can’t  breathe. He smiles and wraps his arms around me and I stand flaccid in the hug.

“Hello, young man! I’m a clergymen here at Unity Fellowship of Christ. John Watson. But just call me Mr. John. What’s your name?” He beams.

I backs away from the hug but he still has his hand clasped on my shoulder and he’s smiling the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It almost disturbs me. I think I hear my throat gurgle a bit and I have to swallow back before answering.

“I’m Peter. Uh, Peter Parker,” I manage.

John lets go of his grip and continues to beam at me. He gestures at the people around me and I follow his hand to see three middle school age kids sitting down in the middle with older men sitting next to them talking. This looks like a cult. I want to run but John is staring at me and I can’t just leave when I’m being eyed down like this.

“You’ve come a little late, Mr. Parker,” he says and I hate when adults call me by my last name. “We’ve already paired everyone up. What were ya doing, sitting around in the waiting room?”

He’s joking but that’s exactly what I was doing. I laugh with him and try to shrug it off. This wasn’t so bad. I’ll just tell May I came too late and there wasn’t any ‘fathers’ left to pair me with. I fake a smile and back away from John.

“Ah, that’s just too bad, Mr. John. I’ll be going now,” I say.

“Wait just a minute, boy!” He laughs. “Mr. Stark still hasn’t arrived yet. Traffic up on Willow Avenue, I hear. Real bad accident. God bless. Anyways, Mr. Stark just called to tell me he’ll be late. He’s been looking forward to this meeting all month and you’re a strapping young man. He’ll be happy to be paired with you. Come, come! Sit down and wait.”

John has his hand back on my shoulder and is practically pushing me to the circle of wooden seats. I comply and sit down on the rocky chair. The kid next to me, who looks like she can’t be more than seven years old, rolls her eyes and shuffles her body away from me. I can’t blame her. I’m easily the oldest kid in this room. I sigh and place my heads around my head and lean back. I don’t care who this Mr. Stark is but he’s not going to be happy to see he got paired with a sixteen year old and not an actual kid. 

I wait another four minutes and I’m about to leave. I don’t want to sit here in this weird, smelly church basement awkwardly avoiding the other ‘father's’ eyes any longer. John comes over again and he’s smiling the same smile. 

“He’ll be here soon, child. Don’t worry. Mr. Stark is nothing but prominent and faithful. I have his word,” John tries to reassure.

Great. My future therapy dad is a crazy Christian, too. I try to fake another smile but my face is getting tired. Two fake smiles is enough for one day. I just want to go home and nap or Skype with MJ. We could talk about that test I cheated on and got caught or about her new nose piercing. Her dad was pissed about it but I think it looks cool. May hates MJ, says she’s a bad influence. But that’s coming from the woman who smokes cigarettes in front of her nephew who has asthma so not everyone in my life is exactly perfect. 

I’m contemplating leaving again when someone walks through the red door. John rushes over and is gushing at the man who looks like he’s just ran a marathon to get here. I hear my name and an ‘amen’ thrown in there and now the man who I can only assume is Mr. Stark is walking towards me. This was a dumb idea. I should’ve said no and told May to find a new shrink instead. But now Mr. Stark is standing in front of me and he’s expecting some sort of formal greeting. His hand is extended and I meet him halfway with a handshake.

“Ah, good to meet you Peter. I’m Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to be paired with you,” he says.

He’s not elderly but he’s not young. He has the faint lines of crow’s feet around his eyes and a few deepening wrinkles on his forehead. He’s a little bit taller than me and he’s dressed too nice to be in a gross church basement. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and pants and a white bowtie is pulled across his neck. I’m about to say something when I see John standing giddly besides him. I look around at the other members and see a few with plastered smiles on their faces. I turn back and Tony is smiling at me. Suddenly, John is speaking and confirming my worst nightmare.

“Mr. Parker, this is Pastor Tony Stark. Unity Fellowship’s own leader. He’s really excited to meet you!”

“I’m so sorry for the wait. I try to be as timely as possible but God isn’t always permitting,” Tony jokes.

I want to crawl into the earth and never return. How could this get any more awkward? I’m not religious by any means and I’m being paired with the pastor of all people. I just nod my head and John leaves us. Tony’s staring at me and I’m staring back and I should just go. This is stupid anyway, May will understand. 

“I have to be frank, Peter. I’m not very good with kids. So I was actually relieved to see I got paired up with an older boy. I hope you take no offense.”

What should I say? I’m glad he doesn’t want a little kid but isn’t it more awkward this way? I’m sixteen, I shouldn’t need a substitute dad. I’m already starting to feel weird so I sit back down and Tony is following me to the wooden seat besides me. I look straight ahead. I know I should talk to the man that is taking the time out of his day to ‘counsel’ me, but what does one say to a pastor? I don’t do religious stuff. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?

“I can imagine this being pretty awkward,” he says. “I also take it that you’re not a follower.”

I sigh, “No. I’m sorry, I’m not.”

Hopefully he’ll get fed up and ask John to switch him with someone else because he wants to counsel a faithful boy. But he stays seated next to me and watches as I draw myself away. Why are church people so pushy? He keeps staring me down and he seems like a nice guy but his eyes are following me with pity and I feel lost. Tony sighs too and starts to fidget with his bowtie.

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird. I’m new to this, too. I was practically forced into it by Reverend John,” Tony laughs off.

“You were forced to be here, too?” I ask.

Tony nods and looks back at me. “Yeah. Not that I wouldn’t want to help children out. It’s just … hard, you know? All kids are different. Everyone has different needs and ways of learning. I thought I wouldn’t be good at it. I hope I’m not rambling, son,” Tony says.

I shake my head. This guy isn’t too bad. He’s a holy roller, sure, but he’s just as nervous as I am and he isn’t being too forward. A kid across the room starts screaming and his therapy dad is trying to console him with snacks from the buffet table. He screams again and starts crying for his  _ real  _ dad and the therapy dad’s face caves in. I’m glad I didn’t have to do this when I was young and vulnerable like that. Tony looks over and gives a sympathetic face to the man trying to carry a raging toddler out of the basement. 

“Yeah, no I get it. But I’m not like broken or anything. I just did this so my aunt wouldn’t get upset,” I admit.

I don’t want this guy getting the wrong idea of me. I’m traumatized and maybe a little fucked up, but I’m not damaged. I’ve been through worse. Tony smiles at me and it feels nice and not weird and pervy like when the old man at the drugstore on fourth street smiles at me. I feel a strong clasp on my shoulder again and look over to see John, the same shit eating grin on his face, towering over us. 

“I’m glad we worked this out! Now that you two are acquainted, you should share contact information. The idea is that you develop a friendship. Peter, you should know that you can rely on Mr. Stark for anything. So if you need an emergency ride somewhere or need help, you can call him at any time. We meet once a week on Wednesdays after bible study down here from four to six. But we encourage meetings outside of the group! Hang out at the store, get dinner together, stuff like that. I’d love to see you joining us for Sunday mass, Peter.”

My mind is racing at every word John said. He pulls me close at the end and told me to come to church. Seriously? I can see Tony out of the corner of my eye shrug it off. John finally leaves again and Tony is pulling out his phone. I reach to grab mine and read him off my number. 

“Was he serious when he meant I could just call you? That’s kinda dumb, right? What if you’re busy or you’re at church or something?” I ask.

Tony finishes putting my number in his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I think the whole idea of the group is for me to act like a father to you. And a father would drop anything to help his child. I understand the concept. John can be eccentric at times, is all.”

I nod. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sorry I’m not religious.”

I feel weird saying that. It’s not like this group is for Christians only but he’s the pastor. Tony starts to laugh.

“It’s no big deal. I’m not going to convert you or push you into it. I don’t have to believe in the lord to be a good father figure.”

I get it. I’m nervous and kind of worried about the next meeting, but I get the idea. I nod and save his number into my phone as ‘Tony Stark.’ 

“Okay, good. Because I really don’t see myself coming to any masses, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs, “I can’t blame you.”

-

The rest of the week goes by without any real issues. May asks how the meeting went, I lie and tell her it went great and that there’s not even that many church people there. She smiles and tells me faith can never be trusted and goes on a spiel about God having the power to cure cancer but never doing it. I half heartedly listen because I’m texting Tony who surprisingly is really good at Eight Ball on iPhone games. 

That’s how he broke the awkward silence three hours after Wednesday’s meeting: Sending me an invite to the iPhone darts game. We played for a while, I lost. Then we played again and I won. And in between every game we have mini discussions. It’s kind of like a deal. Whoever loses has to talk about something personal in their life. I tried my absolute hardest to win for the first day and reluctantly told Tony about my uncle and my parents when I lost. Now it’s not so hard anymore when I lose and I have to share something. 

It can be as mundane as how good your day was or what you had for lunch. We’ve kept it going for five days now. The day after tomorrow will be the next meeting and I can’t help but feel nervous. We’ve told each other some pretty personal stuff. Yesterday, after Tony lost in a game of PaintBall, he told me that his family was killed in a car accident. He didn’t go much beyond that and I didn’t really need him to. 

I finish up our game of Eight Ball and score a pretty easy victory against him. He still has me beat in the overall score, though. The small chat bubble pops up and Tony’s about to share something personal. I hear the small chime on my phone and look at Tony’s text.

_ When my family died, I felt like everyone was out to get me. I threatened people. I hurt people with my actions. It was selfless and harmful and I wish I could take it back. I wanted to right my wrongs, so I found God again. They haven’t been gone for more than three years so the wounds still fresh. But I really do feel like God has given me a purpose now, a sense of being. It sounds stupid, I know. But I think everyone has that epiphany moment after they lose someone, Peter. Have you had yours yet? _

That’s a pretty open ended question. I don’t even think I had an epiphany moment after my parents died when I was a kid, let alone had one after Uncle Ben. I start to text back and I feel my hands shake as I tell a man that is still technically a stranger to me things I’ve never told anyone else.

_ No. I wish I did though. I don’t really remember my parents so there’s no real epiphany there. But with my uncle … Idk. I just feel angry all the time. I wanna yell at everyone who tells me how to feel about it. I wanna scream when my aunt cries at veteran commercials. I don’t even really like thinking about him. Sometimes when we text, I get pissed with you because I don’t wanna talk about it but I know I should because I lost at a game or whatever.  _

I don’t have to wait long for a response. Tony is quick to text back a few minutes later as I lay down on my bed, too bored to do anything fun and too careless to do anything productive.

_ I know the feeling, trust me. It gets easier to talk about it the more you do. You start to accept it that way. The anger part took me a long time to progress. But when I found God I think it helped me accept that life has to move on, that I shouldn’t blame other people for my grief.  _

I text back:

_ Are you saying I should become a Bible thumper? LOL _

I wait a while and I feel bad for texting it. It was mean and invasive and Tony’s been nothing but supportive and nice to me the last few days. I open my phone to explain myself but just as I’m about to type, Tony replies.

_ I’m saying you should think about it.  _

-

It’s not Wednesday yet but I’m already meeting Tony for what John called ‘extra meetings.’ Tony was the one to suggest that he pick me up from school today and take me out to eat. I skipped lunch and I’m really hungry and way too excited. I told May last night about our meeting and she smiled sweetly and told me to have fun. I haven’t mentioned to her yet that my counselor is actually the pastor and I don’t plan to. I like Tony. He’s not too pushy for a holy roller and if May found out she’d be scared. She’d probably think Tony’s going to baptise me again. 

I’m seated in the front seat besides Tony as he drives down the street and turns into the outlet. I haven’t been out to eat since Uncle Ben was visiting from the war. That was one of the last times I saw May truly happy. My stomach churns just thinking about him and I want to tell Tony that maybe this is going too fast. But I watch as he pulls into a parking space and unlocks my door.

I get out and Tony waits for me before leading the way into the diner. It’s a retro style diner, the ones you find on highways that are open all night and day. A large, life sized ceramic statue of Betty Boop stands in the crowded lobby’s center with red and silver booth seating around the interior. A woman approaches Tony and he tells her to get a booth for two. We’re herded into the left side of the dinner and into a booth with a jukebox bolted where the window should be. Tony hands me a menu and I really don’t want to be here.

“Pete, is everything alright?” Tony asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know … The last time I did anything like this, I was with my uncle and I just,” I sigh. “It’s weird. I feel weird.”

“Hey, kid,” Tony gives me a warm smile. “It’s alright. I would’ve said no if you didn’t want to be here. We can leave, I won’t be mad.”

“No! That’s uh, no. I want to hang out with you. I’m sorry, sir. Let’s stay.”

“Whatever you say, son,” Tony says.

We go back to searching the menu and I already know Tony will offer to pay. Something about it being a father’s job. I’m sure he gets money from the church but it’s still weird for a grown man to be paying for me. It’s not long before I close my menu, already figuring I’ll just get chicken tenders and fries like every other restaurant I’ve ever been to. A waitress comes not too long after and asks for our drinks and meals. Tony orders a breakfast meal and asks for his eggs to be sunny-side up. I stumble through my order next and hand the waitress our menus. 

“So, Pete. You go to Midtown high in the city, right? How do you usually get from Jersey to school?” 

“Uh, I got in on a scholarship so my bus fares are free. I don’t need to pay the tunnel fee either way. I’m surprised you would come all that way through New York traffic just to get me,” I say.

Tony offered to pick me up yesterday, but when I told him he really shouldn’t, he asked why. Midtown high school is, appropriately, in Midtown, New York. I got in last year on a science scholarship and so far my high school experience has mostly consisted of spending forty minutes on the bus, morning and afternoon, just to get back to Jersey. It was an annoying consequence of wanting a better education. Plus, after Ben’s death, May refused to let me stay in Hoboken for school. She saw the scholarship as an opportunity for me to move on.

“I don’t mind, not at all. In fact,” Tony paused after taking a sip of his coffee the waitress had sat down. “Would you like me to take you to school?”

“What? Mr. Stark, that’s like a forty minute trip in the morning because of traffic. You don’t have to do that. I get to ride the bus for free.”

Tony laughed and placed his cup down. “Who wants to spend two hours everyday on the bus? Peter, please let me. Don’t worry about gas or the fee’s. I get paid to hold a weekly sermon at a bishop’s home in Manhattan. I have a prepaid card for the fee’s from the priestess there. It’s really not a huge deal. Besides, I like visiting the big apple. Hate staring at it from little Hoboken.”

I laugh. Tony’s weird but he’s kinda sweet. He’s a lot like Ben. 

“Okay, sure. That’d be awesome, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiles earnestly as multiple plates begin to be placed before us. The waitress wishes us a good meal and heads off, leaving me with a sad looking plate of three tenders and an abundance of fries that were probably frozen just minutes ago. Tony digs into his eggs and bacon and starts the conversation again. He’s good at that, he always knows what to say. He must get that from being a pastor.

“It’s not that I hate Hoboken. It’s a nice neighborhood, really. But it feels like it’s living in the shadow of New York, which I guess is kinda true. Geologically speaking. It’s not even as nice as Jersey City. Well,  _ upper  _ Jersey City. None of that Jersey Shore riff-raff.”

“I hate Hoboken. I hate New Jersey. I like New York. It just feels … better, I guess. I dunno. I hate being stuck here. NYC is so open, so big. Hoboken feels like a rip-off,” I say as I dip a fry into ketchup.

“I like that. Hoboken kinda does feel like a rip-off of New York,” Tony splits open his egg and yoke pours from it.

“May wants me to stay here for college, though. Since it’ll be a lot cheaper. She wants me to go to Stevens Institute of Tech, but I wanna go to Cornell so bad. We went for a school trip last semester. It felt like home more anywhere in Hoboken ever has.”

“Wow, Cornell. That’s an Ivy League school, right? Isn’t it upstate?”

I nod and finish eating the fry. “Yeah but it’s medical science center is in Manhattan, Upper East side. That’s what we visited. It felt like home.”

“I’ve never heard you get so happy about something. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile ‘til just now,” Tony laughs.

I feel heat course through my cheeks and I know I’m blushing. I didn’t realize I had been smiling. I watch Tony as he laughs and shakes his head, sipping his coffee. 

“Well, Pete. You’re very smart and I can see you have a bright future. You really do remind me of my boy.”

After that, Tony goes quiet and goes to look out the window but gets greeted with the ancient jukebox instead. I watch his smile fade and I don’t know if I should press the issue or leave it alone. I’m about to leave it alone but then we’d be quiet for way too long so I open my mouth to speak.

“Your son. Uh, what was his name?” I ask.

“Nicholas. My wife’s name was Pepper. They were my everything. Truly,” he says slowly.

I nod and look down at my half eaten plate of chicken. I didn’t mean for this to be awkward. I’ve told Tony a lot about Ben and my parents but his family was always a touchy subject for him. He never avoided my questions about them after our games, but it was obvious he didn’t like being reminded of their deaths. 

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Tony says after a few more silent moments. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. I just get … so lost in thought when I think about them. I miss them so much. Just like I’m sure you miss Ben. That type of pain … it never really goes away.”

“Yeah,” I say and I actually start to think about Ben. I quickly try to steer my mind elsewhere. I don’t want to think about him in this diner in front of Tony. I haven’t cried since the week he died, I won’t fail now. 

“But, you really do remind me of him. Such smart young men you both are.”

I nod and try to push down the food in my throat. “You … you remind me of Ben,” I say.

Why did I say that? It’s the truth but I don’t want to talk about Ben or even think about him right now. But my mouth won’t close and the words won’t stop. Tony has this aura about him that anything I say will be kept private and left unjudged. It’s so easy to forget about not wanting to say anything and just tell him.

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah. A lot, actually. He was the type of person who looked out for others first. I was always his number one priority. He put everyone else before him and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You’re a lot like that.”

“That’s very kind, Peter. I try to do what I think is right no matter what. In my life, I put everyone ahead of me, and God before them. There’s no room in my life to be selfish.”

I smile and nod as I watch Tony finish his serving egg and take one last sip of his coffee. He wipes his face with a napkin next to him and I scarf down another third of the fries before piling trash on my plate. 

“Hey, before I drop you off, do you want some ice cream? There’s a new Friendly’s down on sixth street,” Tony says as he scribbles his name on the bill.

I nod and we head out of the diner, away from the Betty Boop statue and towards his car. 

-

The next day is another Wednesday, which means the second Father Figure Group Therapy at Our Unity Fellowship of Christ is taking place at four in the afternoon. Tony also took me to school today and picked me up. It was already three by the time we got to Hoboken so we just drove to the church. Tony told me I could wait in the car while he attended the last hour of bible study, but I didn’t want to be alone so now I’m sitting in the same basement on the same wooden bench listening to Reverend John talk about his faith.

“Matthew, one of God’s twelve apostles, told his followers of the Jewish-Christian faith in ‘The Gospel of Matthew’ how God’s children are to be treated if they were to achieve entrance into God’s Heaven,” Reverend John read from a notebook in front of him as he paced the small circle.

Maybe twenty people are crowded in the dank church basement. Some look to be much older, a woman who has to be in her near seventies is sitting directly left of John. While a boy my age sits across from her. There’s kids here, some I recognize from the father figure group. Tony is holding one of the church’s bibles, the pages torn and frayed from probably decades of use. I look over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in the scripture so Reverend John’s eyes don’t land on mine. 

“One of many leading principles in his book can be found in Matthew eighteen, six: ‘For whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.’ This principle is further repeated in The Gospel of Mark. Mark nine, forty-two.”

I watch Tony flip to somewhere in the book and see his finger scroll down the page. Sure enough, at the top of the page is the same verse with slightly different grammer. I nudge Tony and he leans down to hear me.

“Why does it say the same thing? Why does it repeat?” I whisper to him.

Tony smiles and clears this throat, loud enough for the entire room to hear. John looks over and Tony waves him down. My heart stops in my chest. Does he not know the answer? It was just a dumb question, he didn’t need to actually answer it.

“Reverend, Peter had a really great question. He asked why the two different parts of the book say the same thing. Can you tell him why?” Tony says.

All eyes are on me and I’m petrified. I force myself to look Reverend John in the eye and he grins wider than the Cheshire Cat. 

“That’s a wonderful question, Mr. Parker! The apostles of God would often repeat each other’s verses to signify importance to that scripture. Less important rules weren’t repeated while the most important ones were. It also gives each apostle’s point of view on the story of creation. So rules found throughout every apostle’s book are considered the most important because it shows that God came to all of them and told them all the same rule. Make sense?”

I nod and try to calm myself down. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as John smiles wide and begins reading the rest of the lesson. Tony besides me grins and I’m almost pissed at him. Why would he announce that to everyone? He had to have known the answer was just doint it to fuck with me, but why? The rest of the hour goes by quickly and the reverend excuses himself to prepare for the group therapy. Tony pulls me aside before I have a chance to find the bathroom to chill out.

“Peter, I know you’re angry,” he says as he ushers me towards the corner of the room. 

“Why would you do that? I didn’t want to be called out. I just asked a dumb question. That was so embarrassing,” I say.

Tony frowns and I start to feel bad. I know he has good intentions but I can’t see a reason why he would do that. “You’re interested in this. I wanted to give you a chance to learn something about this. Thought it might help ease you into things.”

“Tony, you’re really cool and all but I am  _ not  _ interested in your religion. I just asked a question,” I insist.

“If you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t have had asked the question and you certainly wouldn’t have followed me in here.”

I close my mouth. I can’t tell if I want to hit him or run away. I don’t even know how to begin to process this so I sit down on the nearest bench and don’t question it when Tony besides me. His hand clasps my shoulder and I stare straight ahead.

“I’m not threatening you, Pete. I didn’t mean to get snippy either, I just had to say what needed to be said. I was just like you three years ago. I denied my faith for a long time, much longer than I’d like to admit. But it changed my life. Once I finally gave in and accepted God, my world was such a brighter place. I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to. But if you’re interested, why don’t you come to mass this Sunday?”

“No, Mr. Stark I -” 

Tony cuts me off. “I know, I get it. It’s weird and something you’ve never done before. But I’ll be right on stage all morning. I won’t let you out of my sight. And if you get scared, then I’ll take you home right away. No harm done. My feelings won’t be hurt. I understand this life isn’t for everybody.”

“I just,” I sigh and move my head down. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go and end up hating it and let you down. I might  _ hate  _ it, Mr. Stark.”

“Or you might love it. You won’t know until you try it,” Tony says.

I look around the basement and see kids start to pour in with their father figures. John is greeting them at the front and thankfully directing them away from us and towards the food. 

“Let’s make a deal. I win, you go to church this Sunday. You win, you don’t and I won’t ask you about it ever again. Whoever has the most games won in Eight Ball by Saturday night wins. Deal?”

“No way, you’re really good at Eight Ball,” I joke.

Tony laughs. “Okay, fine. How about darts?”

I look up at him. I’ve only known for a week, but I know he wouldn’t want me to do something that isn’t right for me. He’s not a bad Christian. In fact, he might be the best one I’ve ever met.

“Deal.”

-

I tried my best to win every game of darts we played for the next four days. We play a lot everyday and we still got our game of talking going, too. Tony tells me a lot about his past before he started going to church. He mostly watched over his family and worked as an engineer for a mechanical appliance company in Jersey City. He lost the job a month after his family died when he stopped showing up. 

_ It was a great job. Good pay, decent hours, respectful people. But it was all too much for me. I stopped going when they died. I used the insurance money and welfare from the government to live. I had no way of getting there everyday, either. My car was totalled in the wreck and I didn’t have money to buy a new one. So even if I wanted to go to work, I couldn’t. _

Tony told me yesterday his son and wife were killed in a car accident. He asked about Ben and I told him about the explosion at his base. He called me after that and we talked on the phone for a while. I’ve never told anyone how Ben died. Having someone to actually talk to about it was nice. 

We were pretty much neck and neck until Saturday afternoon when Tony texted me three consecutive games and won every one of them. Now it’s already nine at night and it’s pretty clear I’ve lost. I get a text from Tony.

_ I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. Maybe we can go out to eat after? _

I groan. I tried winning, I seriously did. Now I have to go to church and sit in a huge room full of strangers talking about stuff I don’t understand. I reply back.

_ Wait. Don’t you have to dress fancy for church? I don’t know if I have anything like that. _

Tony:  _ Yup, Sunday best. It’s not too fancy though. Kinda more like business casual. Your Midtown High slacks and a polo would be fine.  _

I roll over on my bed to text Tony goodnight now that I have to wake up early. I set an alarm on my phone and plug it in the charger before turning off the light. What will May think? What would Ben think? 

-

I’m sitting in Tony’s car at nine in the morning wearing my school uniform pants and a white button down I managed to find in my closet. We’re silent on the ride there and my legs bounces with anxiety. I keep my eyes glued to my phone as Tony drives and pulls onto Clinton Street. 

“You nervous?” Tony asks.

“Terrified,” I admit.

He chuckles and leans over to pat my shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, Pete. Just remember, if you want to go home you just ask we will.”

“But won’t you be in the middle of talking?”

“Reverend John will take over if need be. Please don’t let that scare you. If you need anything during it, just say it and it’ll get taken care of,” Tony says. “You look nice, by the way.”

“Uh, thanks. You look,” I look over at his unusual outfit and tilt my head. “Different?”

Tony’s wearing a long black shirt that flares out at the hips and falls to his ankles. It almost looks like a dress with black suit pants underneath. The collar of the shirt looks like it’s cut out and underneath is a white under-shirt. Golden buttons go down the shirt until it cuts down the middle, showing the pants.

“Ah, yeah. I probably look pretty silly right now. These are clerical robes. Lots of pastors wear them as street clothes but I only wear mine to services and keep my wardrobe simple. It might look stupid, but the dry cleaning bill for this thing is no joke.”

I laugh and watch Tony pull into the parking lot of the church. “No offense, but it totally looks like a dress.”

Tony pulls into a parking space with a sign posted above it, ‘Clergymen Parking Only.’ 

“None taken, son.”

-

Tony’s good at keeping people awake and energized in what was supposed to be a boring service. His voice booms off the elevated walls of the temple and his laughs feel genuine. He jokes with John and three other clergymen I don’t recognize and asks one to play the piano as he leads his people in prayer. Some sing the hymns, others dance, and the kids run around the pews and screech the lyrics as they race each other. I sit in the front like Tony told me to and watch as he sings the hymn without a book.

_ On a hill far away / stood an old rugged cross. The emblem of suffering / and shame. And I loved that old cross / where the dearest and best / for a world of lost sinners was slain. So I'll cherish the old rugged cross / till my trophies at last I lay down / and I will cling to the old rugged cross / and exchange it someday for a crown.  _

Once the hymns are over, Tony steps up to the altar and smiles. “Good morning, everyone,” he starts.

Everyone in the room says it back and I feel stupid for not doing so either. Tony gestures around the room from behind the altar. 

“I’d like everyone to take the time to greet the person next to you. I don’t care if you’ve never seen that man or woman in your life, or if they’re your best friend. Say good morning. Bless them. Ask about their morning.”

It’s at this point where I mentally freeze. The room erupts into talkative chatter as the church-goers greet each other. I’m in the front pew and the only person closest to me is a little girl in a pink dress talking to her father. The family is a few feet away so I don’t interrupt and let them talk. I scoot closer to the pew’s end and feel a hand grasp my shoulder. I look up to see Tony giving me a reassuring smile. 

“I wouldn’t make you talk to someone you didn’t know. I’m here, Peter. It’s going to be okay,” he says.

“So what’s next after this?” I ask.

“We’ll pass the offering bowl around while I greet everyone again. Then we start communion and after that, I preach your head off for a while. Anybody who feels inclined to speak at the altar after can do so. Then I end it with prayer. Pretty simple.”

“Communion? What’s that?”

“It’s a special ceremony where anyone who wants to can eat a piece of bread and drink from a goblet of wine. It signifies consuming the body and blood of Christ, spiritually of course,” Tony chuckles.

I cringe and shake my head. “Uh, I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Good. Because the bread is stale and awful. But I have to eat it every week or I look like a heretic,” Tony keeps the jokes coming.

I laugh with him and maybe this isn’t so bad. The people seem nice and Tony sounds so happy when he’s talking about his faith. The music is entertaining and I haven’t been urged to confess or be baptised yet. Tony leaves to go back to the altar where he begins the communion. I watch as a dozen or so people stand in line to take a piece of bread from one clergyman and then drink from a large glass Reverend John is holding. After ten minutes, everyone sits back down for Tony to begin his actual service. I feel a sudden tap on my shoulder and I know it’s not Tony this time. I hastily turn around to see an older man, maybe in his thirties, smiling at me. 

“You’re Pastor Stark’s father figure kid, right? I saw you at this week’s meeting. Just wait till he starts preaching. Feels like he’s conjuring the words from God Himself,” the man states.

I nod and fake a smile. Once I’m settled, Tony begins to speak. “Today, in this holy space of the Lord, we want to thank our Almighty God for the wonderful blessings upon our lives. We thank Him for the love that He has shown to us through His son Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” the people around me echo.

“I’d like to give the time we have today not only to God and His grace, but also to our loved ones. Before you are likely people you’ve shared your life with. People you’d do anything for. People you’d die protecting. People who’d die protecting you. But God doesn’t always have a future planned for your loved ones. God’s plan may be to take them home, to the great Heaven above, long before it’s your due time.”

Tony pauses and the weight of his words weigh down on the church. I can feel people eyeing him, watching him pace the length of the altar as he preaches.

“And when we have these loved ones taken from us, we show fear. We cry, we go through pain unimaginable to any other creature not of this Earth. We carry burdens. And for many of us, the painful weight of these burdens crash down in ways we never wanted. We curse His name. We doubt His grace, His plan. We cry to a God we believe doesn’t love us.”

My throat hitches on a gulp. Tony’s talking about his grief and in an obscure way, mine.

“But God does love you, children! God loves each and every single one of us. But in our pain we don’t sense it. We don’t feel His love trying to shelter us. We’re blind of the feeling of the Almighty. We hurt too much. And I know because I’ve been in this position before. I’ve felt this pain. I’ve carried this burden. I let it crash down and smother me in disbelief and guilt. I’ve cursed God once. I hated Him once. But not anymore.”

Tony pounds his foot on the altar. A few people, mostly the older women, jump from the startling sound. 

“I let His love pour into me. I let Him take away that burden. I finally gave into the power of God’s love. I found, in Him, salvation. I found ascension. I found glory!”

“Hallelujah!” The church roars.

“You all have the power within you to find Him. You all can see through the dark. You all can believe. My friends, people with God and people without: We are all the same. For in both ignorance and worship, does God love us all. We are all on the path to our own salvation and glory. He will guide us there. Love from Him knows no bounds. Amen.”

“Amen,” I find myself saying back.

-

After the service, Tony drives me back home. We’re only minutes away from my house when he asks in a hushed voice.

“I feel really embarrassed to be honest. How was your first service? Did anybody try to talk to you when I wasn’t around?” Tony asks.

I shake my head. I’m not going to tell him about the guy who told me about his preachings. “No, no one talked to me. And it was fine, I think you did great. It was very … honest. You looked really happy up there. You always do when you talk about God.”

Tony smiled and nodded as he turned on my street. “Thank you, Peter. And thank you for going. I know we had that bet and all, but if you really didn’t want to go I wouldn’t have made you. It means a lot that you went.”

He pulls into my driveway and I almost cuss out loud. Aunt May is heading out the door for work at the exact same time. She slings her purse over her shoulder and freezes when she sees me sitting in a strange man’s car. I head out first, hoping to try and reason with her. 

“Hey, May. Uh, I just got back from a meeting with my partner from the group therapy thing,” I stumble my way through the lie. 

I see Tony come up to May shake her hand. She keeps looking between each of us and studies Tony’s robes. I want to run and hide and never talk to her again. 

“Hello, Mrs. Parker. I’m Pastor Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure meeting you. Your nephew has told me a lot about you. You work at the homeless shelter in Jersey City, right? I’m sure you’re headed on your way there now,” Tony introduces himself.

“Hi, I was,” May starts. “Wow, I didn’t know Peter got paired up with the pastor. And you guys just -”

“Returned from service? Yes,” Tony finishes.

This is the worst thing that has happened in my life since Ben died. Or rather it’s a close second to when Flash stole my clothes during gym and forced me to walk to the gym office in my underwear. Tony flashes May a killer smile and each second of this makes me want to roll over and die.

“I should really get going. I promised Reverend John I’d help with Sunday school today. Peter, I’ll see you tomorrow for school. I’ll text you tonight. Goodbye, Mrs. Parker. It was nice meeting you.”

And just like that, Tony’s gone. I don’t know what to expect from my aunt. Probably a gut wrenching scream or a broken, manic laugh, or straight up silence. But I feel her pull me close and hold me. When she finally pulls away, I can see she’s crying. 

“May, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you he was the pastor. I should’ve told you I was going to church. I didn’t really want to, it was a bet I lost. I promise I won’t go back,” I beg.

May shakes her head and lets the tears roll down her face. “It’s fine. I’m not angry. Jesus, Peter. You’re so much like Ben.”

She kisses my cheek and goes to her car without another word. I watch her stare at me, smiling and crying, as she drives down the street.

-

Yesterday was the third Sunday service I’ve been to with Tony. The last few weeks have flown by. Tony still picks me up everyday for school and we’ve started a tradition of eating out Saturday nights. The other day’s restaurant was Chili’s and he plans to take me to get sushi next weekend. It’s now Monday night and May is on the phone with someone speaking in a hushed whisper. She comes back to the dinner table and places her head in her hands. 

“May?” I ask.

“My cousin just passed away. Lung tumor. Wow, shit,” she says while staring at her untouched food.

I nod and watch as she runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to the funeral. It’s this Sunday. But they’re all the way out in Michigan so I’ll have to get there at least the day before, maybe even Friday if I want to see his family.”

“I’ll go,” I tell her.

“You absolutely will not. You’re staying here. I just got off the phone with Tony. If you’d like, he’s able to stay here for the weekend with you.”

“May, I’ll go. Please, I don’t want you to go alone.”

May shakes her head. “No, and that’s final. You do not want to go to another funeral so soon after Ben … Trust me, Peter. I’ve been through that experience. It just brings all that pain back. You’re staying here.”

I roll my eyes as she pulls out her phone. I should’ve never given her Tony’s number last week. Now that I know she calls him, she probably tells him about all of our arguments or, God forbid, about my childhood. I keep eating as she walks across the room to grab her purse, pulling out her wallet.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Booking a plane ticket. I’ll have to get this sorted out now if I plan on going. Shit. I’ll take this as another excuse to quit smoking,” she says as she types in her pin.

Once my food is gone, I go into my room and do something I’ve only ever done at church. I get on my knees and pray. I pray May’s okay while she’s in Michigan. I pray her cousin I’ve never met can get into Heaven or whatever version of it he practiced. I text Tony and we talk about it until I go to bed. Tony told me he prayed for him, too. I wonder if God can hear a prayer more clearly if two people pray for it, or if the messages collide and fall apart. 

-

May hurriedly pulls her overstuffed suitcase down the stairs as I help her with her carry-on bag. Tony opens the door for her and I follow suit, placing both in the taxi’s trunk. She kisses me on the cheek and I blush. Really, May? In front of Tony? Tony gives her a quick hug and she lowers herself into the taxi seat.

“Peter, I love you. Nothing crazy. Bye, Pete,” she says.

“Bye, May. I love you. And don’t smoke!”

May shakes her and laughs as the taxi drives down the street. Tony and I walk back into the house, locking the door behind us. Tony goes to sit down on the couch and I follow. There’s some old crime show on and we half heartedly watch it for a few minutes before Tony speaks.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Hmm?” I reply.

Tony sits up. “You know how at church we do communion? Where we eat bread and drink wine?”

“Yeah, why?” I ask.

“Well, I was thinking … Maybe you could try that out.”

I shrug my shoulders after giving it a second of thought. “I mean, sure. But didn’t you say that the bread is gross anyway?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, not try it at church. I mean trying it here. The bread from Unity Fellowship is stale, the wine is practically watered down grape extract. I brought much better bread and wine. Here.”

Tony gets up and goes over to his overnight bag he placed on the kitchen table only an hour ago. He comes back with a full, unopened bottle of wine and a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. I stare as he sets the objects down on the coffee table. 

“Doesn’t the wine and bread have to be purified? Or blessed?” I question.

“Not necessarily. Even if it does, we can call this a practice run. Just so you feel more comfortable eating it in a few days,” Tony begins to unwrap the bread from it’s plastic.

I sit up and watch as he unearths the loaf, a small personal sized bakery made bread. It looks good. The wine is a deep red color and the outer wrapping is gold and white, with italicized writing I can’t read. 

“I dunno, Mr. Stark. I’ve never had wine before. It’s basically alcohol, right?”

“Yeah, but only a really small amount. Most people could drink half the bottle and barley be buzzed. Wine’s not real straight alcohol like beer and liquor is. Plus, it tastes way better.”

Tony sits back down on the couch and rips off a piece of bread. He grabs the wine bottle and uses something on his keys to uncork it. He tosses the cork on the coffee table where it lands next to the now torn loaf.

“So, you’ve seen it done in church, right? You’ll go up to Reverend William to grab a thin slice of bread. Like this,” Tony holds out the bread for me to take.

I grab the piece of bread and Tony beams. “Okay, good. And when you eat it, he’ll tell you that you’re now coonsuming the body of Christ. So, go ahead. Eat it.”

I do and it tastes delicious. I nod my head and smile. “This is probably way better than those little wafers they give out at Unity Fellowship.”

Tony laughs. “Trust me, it’s miles better. So now that you’ve eaten the body of Christ, you’ll move onto Reverend John. You’ll go up to him to drink the wine. This,” Tony holds the bottle in both hands now and lifts it up for me to drink it. “Drink some of it.”

I lean forward to drink it from the bottle and swallow the amount I managed to get in. It tastes like a mixture between cough syrup and grapes. It’s thick and rich with this strange flavor. Tony places the bottle down on the coffee table.

“Good, right?” He asks.

I nod. “Yeah, really good. It tastes better than beer.”

“You’ve had beer before?”

“Uncle Ben was messing around with me as a kid. He let me have a sip of his beer at a party and it was disgusting. But this is way better,” I say.

He chuckles. “I always hated beer, too. You’re welcome to have more of it if you’d like.”

I grab the bottle and look at the French words. “Really?”

"Sure, be my guest,” Tony says as he gestures to the bottle.

I take a big gulp of the wine and balance it on my lap. “Isn’t this supposed to be the blood of Christ? Why’s that?”

“Communion is so even outside of worship, you carry Him with you. The bread and wine is apart of Him. Eating it means you’re taking a piece of God with you until the following week.” 

I nod as I stare down the bottle. “Yeah, that makes sense. Do you want any?”

“Oh no, thanks. You can keep it. I’m full from your aunt’s cooking. She’s a great cook, by the way,” Tony says as he begins to rewrap the loaf. 

I take another swig of the wine and try to look for an ingredient I recognize in the endless jumble of French. I can’t find any so I keep drinking and soon Tony is back and is now putting on a movie. I start to watch it with him as I drink and after a while, I start to forget what exactly it is we’re watching. I can remember there being a boy with some disorder and his friend being normal. They go to some school together but nothing else is really making any sense. I tap Tony on the shoulder to get his attention.

“What’s the little boy’s name again?” I ask.

Tony points at the disabled boy on the screen. “That’s Simon Birch. His friend is Joe.”

“And what are they doing?”

“Well,” Tony starts. “Simon is about to ruin the Catholic school’s play. Remember, he’s playing baby Jesus because he’s a dwarf. And he’s trying to find his biological dad.”

I furrow my brows at the TV. Since when was this movie about finding that boy’s dad? I watch a bizarre scene go down where Simon tries to grab a girl’s boobs on stage. It causes a chain of catastrophic events that led the play to being ruined. Tony laughs at the film but I don’t see what’s so funny. I take another drink of the bottle and feel my heart pound in my ears.

“Mr. Stark … I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Tony calmly pauses the movie and looks at me. He’s looking at me weird, almost like he feels bad for me. Maybe I really am sick. I lay down on the couch and push the near empty wine bottle on the coffee table but I think I hear it drop to the floor. I can’t turn my head to look because of the blood rushing through it. I bring both hands up to cover my face.

“Peter, I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” Tony says.

I remove my hands to look at him. He looks so sad, like he’s upset I’m getting sick. I squint through the haze and watch as he picks up the wine bottle and places it back on the table. I nod my head yes but even that movement hurts.

“You’re very drunk. But you’re going to be okay. Just listen to my voice, alright?”

“Bu-but, you said I wouldn’t get drunk,” I protest.

“Peter. Listen to my voice. Don’t move.”

I can feel weight being pressed on me and I don’t like feeling trapped. I open my eyes and see Tony staring at me from only inches away. I try to move but everything feels like it’s stuck in slow motion.

“Mr. Stark? What’s happening?”

He doesn’t respond. His face looks so sad. I don’t understand. Why won’t he get up?

“Mr. Stark, please get off. I’m gonna puke. Why’re you looking at me like that?” I ask.

“God help me. You look just like Nicholas. Oh, God,” Tony starts crying on top of me. 

I try again to push him off but he won’t budge. I try slithering out under him, but his weight on my shoulders keeps me grounded. Before I can say anything else, Tony’s lips collide with mine. I try to pull back and yell but he holds me in place. It’s not until his lips have left mine can I say anything.

“Get off me. Right now, get off! Get off me!” I scream.

Tony closes his eyes and I can feel his hands slide down my chest and push themselves into my pants. This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not with him. I resist but he keeps pushing them in until his bare hand grabs my groin. I cringe and gasp as his hand stops right there and rests. He opens his eyes kisses me again. He goes back to rubbing the base of my dick. It feels awful. This is wrong. This is  _ wrong. _

“Please … please stop,” I beg.

Tony won’t stop kissing and sucking on my neck and lips. He manages to pull out my entire member and starts stroking its full length. I sob at the friction and desperately try to wiggle out. But my head is so fogged and I feel like I can hardly move at all. My stomach does loops as it threatens to release its contents. 

Tony tries stroking me until I’m hard but I can’t. My body is frozen, my mind’s trying to dissociate from reality by making me think of times with Uncle Ben. He flips me on my side and I can feel him lay down behind me. I can feel him push down my pants until they’re all the way off. I feel him struggle to the same with his own pants with the limited room behind me.

My body tells me to try and run and when I try, it can’t even move my arm enough to push his hand off of me. My mind tells me to escape and I do. I’m taken back to a better time. One with Ben and May when they were happy. We’re at the New York Zoo and May is buying me a hat in the shape of an elephant and Ben is making elephant noises while he buys himself a leopard hat. I can’t tell if this memory is even real or if it’s a manifestation from my mind from keeping my thoughts away from Tony’s warm body pressing against mine.

I feel him enter me and my body convulses at the strange, unpleasant pain. I choke back tears as he thrusts in and out of me. Each thrust takes me to a new memory, or a new fake memory. I can see baseball games and birthday parties and Christmases and barbeques. I’m pulled out of my dreamstate when I hear Tony starting to cry again behind me.

“Oh, God in Heaven. Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” he says as he continues to rape me.

I try to move my hands but all the strength I can muster only amounts to a gentle slap on his thigh. I try again but my body’s near full shutdown mode. All I can move is my head.

“Stop. Please, stop. Pl-please,” I try but my voice is hardly even a whisper.

“Oh, Peter. I’m sorry. I, ah,” Tony says as he thrusts into me again. “I just,  _ fuck.  _ Every time I see you, all I can think about is my boy. I see him in you so much. And when you started going to church with me, it was almost like I had my baby back. My child.”

Tony is sobbing more than I am. His tears falls onto my shoulder and neck as he pounds into me over and over again. He pulls me close and I can feel his dick shove itself all the way to his hilt. I cry out at the pain.

“I miss him so much, Peter. He was just fifteen, he’d just gotten his learner’s permit. He, he, he,” Tony tries to speak but his tears overcome him.

I have no strength left to fight or speak. I let him continue to rape me before he’s trying to finish talking again.

“They said the accident made no sense. There wasn’t traffic or a speeder or an animal in the road. He’d just somehow drove onto the wrong lane. How does that even happen? That’s, ah, not possible.”

He keeps pressing into me at the same pace. He’s going so slow and it hurts so much. I let silent tears fall on the couch as he uses my shoulder as leverage and grabs it to enter into me deeper.

“I used to … I used to touch him. Like this. I’d been doing it for a year before the accident and I started to wonder … What if he drove into the wrong lane on purpose, Peter? What if he wanted to get away from me? Why would he leave me? Why?” Tony cries.

Tony starts to rape me harder, his breath hitches and I can hear an extended groan. Within a few more thrusts, he’s coming inside of me. He breathes out and pulls his member out of me. I feel him pull his pants up and then pull mine. He wraps both arms around me and holds me tight. It’s suffocating.

“Oh, Lord in Heaven. Please forgive me for my sins. For I am a sinner. Come unto me and cleanse me of my wrong-doings. I believe in you and in salvation and glory through the body of Christ. I turn from sin and trust in Christ alone as my savior. In His name I pray,” Tony prays.

I can feel one of his many tears drip from my cheek down to my neck, mixing with my own. 

“Amen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to write this since March. I started in March and then blew it into a huge oneshot instead of a prompt ... today. I plan on releasing this as a stand alone after a little bit of editing. I encourage you all to read it once it's up! Also, would you look at that; I've posted twice in two days time. It must be Christmas for you all. Don't forget to leave suggestions!


	8. Red Room Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has his first livestream with the Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Graphic Violence  
> Torture  
> Gore
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The usernames used in this fiction are from actual chat logs of child predators found on the dark web.

Peter can’t stop listening to the dozens of small chimes he hears from just a few feet in front of him. He can see people, sick, terrible people who want to see him killed, bid and bet on his torture. Mr. Stark, still hiding his face behind the black mask, walks in front of Peter. He extends his arms and stares into the camera.

“I’d like to start the night off with some viewer requested content. Highest bidder in the next thirty seconds gets to pick little Peter’s first ever taste of pain. Begin.”

His captor steps away and Peter almost shivers when he can hear Mr. Stark begin to count under his breath. He circles the metal chair and eyes the young boy down. Peter won’t let this monster get any entertainment from his suffering. He stares the man straight in the face and sneers.

“You’re sick. You’re all sick!” Peter shouts.

Mr. Stark only laughs and keep counting down. It isn’t long before he reaches one and sighs as he walks to the front of the room to read the monitors. He bends down, his entire body out of frame, leaving only Peter in view. He stands up after a moment and Peter can’t see it, but he knows he’s smiling under the mask.

“Mr. ‘Swgamaleyess,’ you’re the highest bidder for Peter’s first round,” Mr. Stark announces once he’s back in frame. “What’ll it be?”

Peter watches as his once friendly guidance counselor stares at a display of monitors before him, knowing whatever he’s reading will cause Peter serious pain or death. Mr. Stark turns around and walks behind Peter. Peter looks up to follow im on the camera and sees him going to a large table in the back of the room. He can’t make out what’s on it but he can see objects lined up neatly and two crates beneath the table. Mr. Stark pulls out one of the crates and crouches behind Peter, completely out of view for the time being.

When he comes back, he’s holding a black metal looking device in his hands. It can’t be more than six inches long and high. It’s a simple looking contraption. Two metal poles connected by a metal plate with a screw in the middle that pushes down a similar plate. Peter looks at the device and furrows his brows. 

“Our winner has suggested we use the thumbscrew on our little Peter tonight. A blood free, easy, effective way of making him feel unbearable pain. Are you ready, Peter?” The tormentor asks.

Peter grits his teeth and glares at Mr. Stark. “Go to Hell.”

He throws his head and lets out a resounding laugh. Mr. Stark moves to Peter’s left side first and grabs his hand. He forces the boy’s thumb in between the two metal plates. Peter suddenly fully understands the use for this torture weapon. He thrashes in his cuffs but Mr. Stark has a firm grip on the teen’s hand. He holds the screws top and looks back at the camera.

“No use struggling, Peter. People paid good money to see this,” he taunts.

With that, Mr. Stark turns the screw until Peter can feel both plates on either side of his thumb. He hyperventilates as the plates get closer and his thumb feels tighter. Peter moans in pain as the pressure esculates, every turn of the screw compressing his digit until a disgusting  _ snap  _ can be heard as Peter’s thumb breaks in two pieces. 

Peter screams in agony as his thumb lays in the device, oddly bent in a way it should never be in. The pain only hurts worse when he tries to move it, resulting in another blood curdling scream from the boy. Mr. Stark unscrews the plates and pulls his thumb out of the metal bracket. He walks to the right side of Peter, grabbing his good, unbroken thumb and placing it in the contraption of pain.

“No! W-w-wait, no! Stop, st-stop, stop. Please don’t. Pl-please don’t,” Peter stumbles through his pointless begging.

Mr. Stark silently begins turning the screw again as Peter sobs. He forces himself to close his eyes, but the anticipation makes him look as the plate begins to press into his thumb. He feels the same pressure as the plates close in one each other. Mr. Stark slowly screws the same few turns and Peter’s second thumb breaks. Another round of wretched screams of pain come from the teen as Mr. Stark takes the device to the back of the room and returns it to its place in the crate.

“Fuck you! Fu-fuck you, you sick piece of shit,” Peter manages to say through sobs.

His captor comes back to face the boy. He presses his finger into one of Peter’s broken thumbs, causing a loud wail of agony to shoot from Peter. He grimaces once Mr. Stark’s pulled his finger and starts heading back to the camera.

“You’re sup-p-possed to be a g-g-good person! You help people, not kill them! Mister -”

Peter is cut off by a sudden punch in the face. Mr. Stark’s face can’t be seen under the mask but he can feel the cold stare of hatred penetrate through the mask and into Peter’s soul. He goes to open his mouth but is hit with another painful punch. Mr. Stark walks back to the camera once Peter decides to keep quiet.

“How about another viewer request? Bidding starts now,” he says.

Peter trembles with each chime from the monitor. Every toll sends electricity down his body to the tips of his thumbs. They hurt so bad he would rather Mr. Stark rip them off than have his now useless, painful digits hanging oddly. The torturer goes back to the monitor after counting down another thirty seconds. He reads it for a moment before coming back into frame.

Mr. Stark’s distorted voice garbles through. “Thank you to my number one customer, ‘Louisiannamaster.’ Your generous bid is the highest. Now, time for you to pick what little Peter should suffer through next.”

Mr. Stark reads whatever comes through the screen carefully and walks behind Peter. He tries to see whatever it is the older man picks up from the table but can’t. Mr. Stark’s hand is on his shoulder and his other is held behind him.

“P-p-please don’t …,” Peter cries.

Suddenly, Mr. Stark plunges a sharp knife above the boy’s right collar bone. A gruesome sound of muscle and tissue splitting accompanies Peter’s voice cracking scream. His entire body jolts as his nerves seem to electrify themselves. Mr. Stark walks away for a second, his hand off the knives handle. He mocks the young boy by flicking the handle, the knife bounces while its blade is still inside Peter. 

“Let’s leave this in there. Don’t want to bloody your clothes too much. Do we, Peter?”

The teen only whimpers as a response, the pain of his broken thumbs and stab wound overtaking him in shock. Peter feels Mr. Stark run his fingers through his hair. He tightly grabs a fistful and pulls Peter’s head back. He struggles in the older man’s grasp, but Mr. Stark holds on tight as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“We’re gonna play a little game, Peter. On my phone, I’ve typed out seven different ways I could hurt you. You’re going to give me a random number between one and seven and whatever is that number is what I’m going to do to you. Sound fun?”

Mr. Stark glares at the boy who shakes with fear. Peter slowly shakes his head, his eyes begging him to let go. Peter can feel his heart race in his throat. The pumping blood is deafening in his ears. This can’t be happening to him. Not Mr. Stark. Not like this. He can’t die like this.

Mr. Stark bends down so that he’s only centimeters away from Peter’s tear stained face. “If you don’t choose, I’ll do all seven. You’ll be begging for me to stop after the second round. Do you really want that?”

Peter shakes his head, still silent from the terror. Mr. Stark, wait. No, he can’t keep calling this monster with a respectful title. He tries to think back to that semester he helped the women at the front desk. What was his first name? He had to sort through his mail so many times, Peter’s kicking himself for not remembering. His thoughts are interrupted by the tormentor’s voice.

“Well, then. What number, Peter?” Mr. Stark spits.

Peter’s voice is hardly audible but he manages to croak out, “Three?”

Mr. Stark nods and puts his phone back into his pocket. Peter stares ahead at the monitors and watches as comments in the chat fly by. More people are in this stream than last night’s. He can tell by how active the chat is. Suddenly, an incredible pain washes over his entire body as the blade in his shoulder is ripped out. Peter unleashes a pained wail as blood soaks his shirt.

“Sorry,” the torturer laughs. “I need this.”

Without any warning, Peter’s head is being forced back again as the knife’s tip is placed at his neck. Mr. Stark doesn’t push it in, just stares at the terrified boy as his neck is elongated and exposed. 

“P-p-please. Don’t k-kill me, please. I - I don’t want to d-d-die. No, no, no,” Peter begs, breathless.

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. This is the method you chose, Peter. One of my personal favorites, actually,” Mr. Stark says in the boy’s ear.

“W-w-what is it?”

His captor slowly presses the blade into the boy’s neck, causing a small spot of blood to appear on the skin. Peter shutters as he feels the blade dive deeper into his skin. He stares at the man he sat with and confided in hours ago. What is his name? 

“Slicing,” Mr. Stark whispers.

As fast as Peter can blink, his entire neck is sliced by the blade. He instinctively goes to reach for it but the cuffs stop him. Blood oozes out but he knows the cut isn’t nearly deep enough to kill him. The older man uses the knife to carefully peel open the cut on Peter’s neck. The teen watches in shook and pain as the slice is opened and he can see pink muscle and tissue lying beneath. 

His name is Anthony. But Mrs. Fleck at the front desk called him Tony. Peter remembers it now. 

Tony laughs as he uses the knife is push the skin back in place and watches it fall to reveal the gore. It hurts. Peter wants to scream and wail but his state of shock only lets him silently cry as he watches his mutilated neck be toyed with for hundreds of people on the internet. Peter can see why Tony calls it slicing; his neck wound looks like a thinly sliced piece of ham. The way the muscle and skin peels back reminds him of Christmas dinners with May. Just thinking about her makes Peter cry harder. 

Tony gets up from his crouched position to walk in front of the camera. He wipes Peter’s blood off the knife with his shirt. Peter’s left helpless with all the pain still firing off his nerves and blood rushing down his chest. 

“That was one of the best first streams we’ve had in a long time. We’ll be back to play with little Peter some more in a few days. Please leave your last donations now.”

Tony’s fingers slide across the knife as he waits a few moments in front of the camera. Peter tries moving his head to see the monitor but the slight movement makes the flap of flesh bounce. He cringes from the pain and waits as Tony shuts off the camera and powers down the computer. Tony lifts the mask up and tosses it on the table carrying the monitors.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes. I’m going to have to stop the bleeding, too,” Tony says nonchalantly.

The man reaches underneath the chair and all four cuffs release Peter’s wrists and ankles. Peter stays frozen in the chair, too shocked and hurt to move. Tony wretches the boy up by his middle and forces him to walk towards a metal door to the left of the room. Peter slowly tip-toes along. Once the two are inside, Peter can only see a similar looking room with just a mattress on the cement floor. There’s another metal door to the right that Tony leads him towards. The door makes a loud creak as it’s revealed to be a small bathroom with only a toilet without the lid and a pinkish tub.

“Sit in the tub. I have to stop the bleeding.”

Peter can’t feel his limbs. He doesn’t move and is pushed in by an agitated Tony as a result. He places himself in the tub, letting his legs stretch out. 

“Don’t get comfortable yet. Take off your clothes and throw them on the ground,” Tony says as he turns to pull something out of his pocket.

Peter shakily tries peeling off his bloodied shirt but his broken thumbs make the task impossible. He winces in pain and yelps as his bent thumb tries pushing the soaked shirt above his head.

“I have to do everything my fucking self,” growls Tony as he reaches over to help the boy.

Tony peels off the shirt and easily pushes down Peter’s pants and boxers in one sweep. He throws the clothes on the cement ground and begins to pull out the item in his pocket. Peter sits back in the tub and watches as Tony glides a lit lighter on the sides of his blade. The metal changes color, resembling molten rock and lava. 

Tony sits down on the tub’s top and places his lighter back into his pocket. Peter watches the man’s unchanging face. He’s yet to show emotion through the entire torture outside of his hellish laughs. The stern face turns to face him and Peter’s gaze retreats to his bare legs.

“Prepare yourself. This is going to hurt,” is all Tony says before he presses the heated side of the knife against the entry wound.

Peter wildly kicks the tub and screams as his flesh is charred. Tony pulls the knife back to see the damage and waits to see if blood starts leaking out, but it doesn’t. The smell of burnt flesh makes Peter gag. He cries as Tony turns on the faucet. Water pours out and washes Peter’s blood off his body. He whimpers when the water reaches his burn.

“You were talkative before. One night’s made you mute, huh?” Tony jokes.

Peter gently shakes his head. “My neck …”

Tony nods and reaches over to finger the boy’s sliced neck. Peter shouts as the tender, exposed muscle is played with. Tony leans back and smirks. 

“Must hurt to talk, hmm?”

Peter only nods. Tony sits up and leaves the bathroom. Peter doesn’t have the strength to get out of the tub, so he lays in the warm water and carefully slides his palms against his chest to wash the dried blood off. He tries his best to avoid using his thumbs but he accidentally scrapes the side of the bent digit and yelps.

Tony’s back after two minutes and he’s carrying something white. He sits back down on the tub’s top and motions for Peter to come closer. Peter reluctantly slides towards his captor in the tub. Tony starts wrapping the item in his hand around Peter’s head, covering his sliced neck. Tony clips the gauze at the top of the boy’s head. The bandage wraps around his head, ensuring the slice doesn’t bounce or peel further.

“If you’re a good boy,” Tony starts. “I’ll stitch that cut back up.”

Tony quickly finishes washing the teen with a washcloth hanging around the faucet. He lets the tub drain and pats Peter down with a dry hand towel he brought. Peter lets his torturer clean him and push him back out the door and into what he can only assume will be where he sleeps. Tony pushes Peter on the mattress, his body looming over the boy’s.

“I know you were going to say my name earlier. Never,  _ ever  _ say or even think to say my name while we’re live. I won’t hesitate to kill you. And that’s a promise. I always deliver on my promises, Peter.”

Peter glares as Tony walks to the corner of the room and drags something behind him. He drops a small length, heavy chain on the cement and connects it with a lock to a bracket on the floor. He tosses the end of the chain on the mattress and Peter’s eyes grow wide with fear. At the end of the chain is a thick, metal collar. 

Tony grabs the collar and pushes the teen to lay on the mattress. Peter tries hitting Tony but his punches fail as his hands can’t form fists because of his broken thumbs.His open palmed slaps are nothing against Tony’s strong, broad chest. Within seconds, Tony’s on top of Peter and securing the collar around his throat, just below his mutilated neck.

Peter screams as he tries pushing the older man off him. “You’re evil. You’re a sick fuck!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

With that, Tony steps off the mattress and walks out of the room. The only light above Peter flickers. The pain and reality sinks in. Peter’s going to be tortured and raped for weeks until Tony finally decides to kill him. Hundreds of people will witness his death and not tell the police. He’ll never see Ned or Aunt May again. His body will probably be burned or stored away where no one will ever find him. There’s nothing left for him to do but cry.

**Viewers: 0   Victim: 16M   Days left: 19**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohh this is totally getting a series on it. I love gore, I won't lie. Call me crazy. But hopefully you guys liked the chapter! Leave comments, suggestions, and kudos!


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